


Crimson

by agetwellcard



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good boy meets bad boy and trouble ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I tap my fingers onto the glass counter, wishing that time would go by faster. It’s a slow day at Guitar Center and all I really want to do is go home. It’s not like I have anything planned after this, I just loathe having to sit behind a counter for hours at a time and serving people who know absolutely nothing about guitars. The job was my parents’ idea. I think when they brought up the idea of me working to afford some of the musical things I needed, they expected me to find one as a classy waiter or maybe something at church, but definitely not at Guitar Center. It only made sense, though. I wanted to buy an amp, or some picks, or a ukulele and conveniently, all of those things were at Guitar Center. 

Sadly, this leaves me at work, six o’clock on a Saturday. There’s a few people left in the store, lingering through the rows of amps and playing around with the electric guitars lining the walls. My coworker, Jon, is one of them, a Fender in his grasp. He’s making an annoyed face that I almost laugh at. He’s been trying to learn how to play guitar, being mainly a bass player, and is kind of failing. It can’t be that different...right? I don’t know, I only play a little bass.

There’s a familiar ring of a customer entering and as usual I turn my head to see who it is. A young guy enters, his face lighting up when he spots all the guitars and drums and everything we have here. He pushes some brown locks of his shaggy hair from his eyes as he walks further, instantly going for a black electric guitar. I almost laugh at the irony of this blatantly “emo” kid finding one of the only black guitars we have in stock. I keep staring, kind of intrigued by him. His eyes, matching the shade of his hair not too badly, roam across the amps, and he sits down next to a small one and plugs the cord into the guitar. 

“Fuck, Brendon, I give up.” Jon says, making me snap my eyes away from the guy and onto him. He rolls his eyes and takes a seat next to me. 

Jon’s worked here longer than me, an astonishing two years of dealing with the shit that makes up being a staff member at Guitar Center. According to him, he’s been in multiple bands, not liking the guys enough to stay. I think he’s either lying or got kicked out of the band because he’s a bit too contemptuous at times. That’s Jon Walker, though. He’s also one of the very few people I’m friends with, so I can’t really complain. 

“It’s not that hard.” I shrug, my eyes flitting back to the kid who’s picking at the strings. “I learned when I was, like, seven.” 

“Someone’s special.” he scoffs. 

“Mm, that I am.” I mutter. 

The guy with the guitar suddenly starts playing chords, lower on the frets. I can tell which ones from all the way over here, having memorized them all when I was younger. B major seven. C minor. G major. I’m pretty certain he’s just playing random chords. Seems decent enough, though. Maybe I won’t have to explain to him the difference of an electric guitar and acoustic. 

“How much longer do I have?” I ask Jon, looking back to him. 

“Um, fifteen minutes.” he mumbles, typing something on his phone. 

“If Pete comes out here you’re going to get into trouble.” I warn him, not wanting our manager to get angry at both of us.

“You know he won’t.” Jon tells me, confidently fiddling with phone in plain view of any of the customers. 

Jon is probably right. Rules are a thing to me, though. I’ve had them my entire life and have learned to follow them. My family is big on rules, too. My parents are all about their religion and, not unlike any other religions, Mormonism calls for rules. Thus, I’ve become a rule abiding kid that can’t have fun because I’m too worried I’m going to get caught. 

“‘Scuse me,” a voice says. I blink a few times then look up to be greeted with the eyes of the boy who I’ve been watching. “I don’t think that amp’s working.” 

I look to where his lanky finger is pointing to, even if I already know which one he’s talking about. “It’s not broken, it just doesn’t work properly.” I say, getting out from behind the counter. 

I make sure the kid is following me as I go off to the amp he told me about. I play around with the knobs, switching it off and on a few times before I give up. 

“Why don’t you just get a new one?” he asks me, his hands now stuck into the pouch of the hoodie he has on. “I mean, you guys can just get them for free, right?” 

“Not exactly.” I explain. “They switch them out every once in a while, but they’re expected to last as long as all the rest. So, yeah. You might wanna find a new one. There are places all over.” 

“Cool, thanks...Brendon.” he says quietly, reading my name off the name tag on my shirt.

“Um...okay.” I stutter a little, stalking off back to the counter. 

The thing is, I have a problem. It’s where I fall in love with complete strangers just because they seem like the kind of person I’d want to marry. Not that I’m sure I even want to get married. Or even get into a relationship. And this guy, the one who obviously knows how to play guitar and wears band shirts and Converses and is slightly awkward, him, he seems like a good candidate for someone I’d like. Still, I don’t know anything about courting someone. Especially someone that I’m not even sure is gay.

“Why didn’t he just find a new one instead of bothering us?” Jon asks when I return, annoyance pouring into his words. “I bet you ten bucks he won’t even buy anything.” 

I shrug, taking a seat back onto the stool behind the counter. “Maybe.” 

He’s still playing around on the same guitar, his fingers quickly moving up and down the neck. He looks small, sitting in an isolated corner, a black band shirt hanging on his thin frame and skinny jeans on his legs. He looks like the typical kid to walk in here with no money in his pockets but a love for music. That used to be me, though. I think this place just attracts people like us. 

“You can go home now, you know that, right?” Jon asks, eyeing me funnily. 

I take one last look at the kid playing through a scale and then wave goodbye to Jon, exiting the store quickly. 

***

“Do you think I could eat this whole thing in two minutes?” Spencer asks from beside me. 

I turn my head, hoping that I’m conveying a rather confused and maybe a little disgusted face. “No, Spence. I want some, too, you know.” 

Spencer looks a little saddened as he shovels two pieces of pizza on his plate, ruining the perfect circle that was a full pie. “I bet I could’ve.” he says grudgingly. 

“Nope.” I remind him, getting three pieces for myself before sitting back down on the couch of the basement. 

Spencer’s one of my best friends. He’s always forcing me to come over to his house during the weekend because if his parents find him unoccupied they’ll force him to do something with his sisters. He’s always got on some band shirt that I don’t ever remember him liking and his hair is always unruly and never cut correctly. He tells me it adds a layer of mystery to him if his hair is cut jaggedly. I usually just roll my eyes and mention something about the way his stupidity adds a layer as well. 

“So, how long do we have until you have to go to work?” he asks me. 

“Um,” I check my phone that’s stuffed into my pocket. “Little less than a half an hour.” 

“When do you think you’re going to have enough for a full kit?” 

Typically at my job, I save up for things in a slow pace. While money is already taken from my check for taxes, my parents also pull out a hefty chunk for college savings and other unimportant things to me. I let them do it because even if I did complain they wouldn’t care at all. Right now I’m saving for a full drum set that costs roughly five hundred dollars and it isn’t coming quickly enough. While I can play the drums decently, they’re mainly so we can start a band. Spencer has one, but the snare drum’s head is beaten in and the bass drum pedal is barely workable so you have to stuff a pillow in the body of the drum. Truth be told, I think he’s more excited about the purchase than I am. 

“Maybe two more weeks.” I shrug.

“Sweet, man!” he says excitedly. “It’s gonna be awesome. Like, when we have full kit everything will work out, you know? You just got that guitar and if you ever ask Jon, we’ll have a bassist.” 

“Full band.” I say while chewing my pizza. 

“Yeah, that is full band! You still have some of the songs saved, right?” 

“They’re still all in my desk.” 

Me writing songs, that’s a thing. I’m honestly not sure if they’re any good but Spencer always seems enthusiastic about them. Spencer’s always enthusiastic and spastic about everything. We both are in that nature, though. I think I’m better at hiding it than him. Still, I do have a few songs that Spencer swears on his dog’s grave he could easily come up with something on the drum set for them. So I guess I can’t really complain, well, except for the fact that Spencer doesn't even have a dog.

“Oh, hey, did you finish that shit you had in vocational?” Spencer suddenly asks.

“No.” I mumbled, shutting my eyes and wishing he wouldn’t have brought that up. 

“Hey, don’t get angry at me. You told me to remind you and I just did, so…” he trails on. 

If it was up to me, I wouldn’t even be in vocational. My parents made me pick something, saying that it would be best for college applications. Maybe it was my lack of talent in work related tasks or my longing to make sly hints to my parents that I am, in fact, gay, but I did cosmetology. This basically means that I have to pick up snipped hair and tell people when our main hairdresser is free. I hate it, but I do get out of school for a few hours every day. It’s just that the girl who directs me around always forgets to give me my coursework so I end up with piles of it with only two nights to do it all. 

“Are you still taking those pills?” Spencer asks. 

I slit open my eyes to find him staring at me worriedly. “My parents make me.” 

I have ADHD. To me, it’s not that big of a deal, but to my parents it’s the world. They get me medication for it, claiming that if I don’t take the little pills that rest in the palm of my hand, I’ll never go to college. I honestly don’t remember a time when I wasn’t on the pills and I was my hyperactive self, so I’m not sure how I would even act at school without them. Spencer doesn’t like me taking them. He says that they make me sad and quiet and not like my younger self. 

“How would they even know if you stopped? You get the prescriptions yourself. I bet it isn’t even that bad anymore. You’re fucking eighteen, Brendon, they can’t tell you what to do anymore.” 

“They would know.” I assure him, putting my plate full of pizza on the coffee table, not so hungry anymore. “They would figure it out. And while I’m living with them, I need to follow their rules.” 

Spencer just purses his lips, obviously not liking my devotion to my parents. “They’re not always gonna be in charge of you.” he whispers to me. 

I shrug a little, standing up from Spencer’s couch. “I should probably get going to work.” I tell him, not bothering to make eye contact. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Spencer says, sighing. “Um, see you at school tomorrow, then?” 

“Sure.” 

I leave his house, having to say goodbye to his twin sisters that still think I’m cute. His mom hugs me, too. I’m completely used to it, though. I’m practically part of the family. It all feels a little strange knowing that Spencer is scowling at me from the arch of the kitchen doorway. I drive to work, music playing loudly from my speakers. It’s not long before I’m sent into the acoustic room to help out with customers. 

I immediately scan the room, finding the acoustic that I always use when I get sent out here. There’s no one even in the cramped, wood smelling room. I sit down on one of the benches, pulling out a loose pick from my pocket. I’m pretty sure all of my jeans have at least five picks in the pockets. My parents literally keep a pile for me by the washer. I start playing a Beatles song, the chords easy on my nimble fingers. I kind of wish I had a capo right now. 

“Sounds good.” a familiar voice says. “I like that song.” 

I look up to find the same guy from last night. He has on a different shirt, but still black with white text. I watch as he scans the walls, standing up on his tiptoes to grab a guitar. I move my eyes away when a hint of skin peeks through his shirt. “You like The Beatles?” I ask, not really expecting it. 

He only cracks a smile. I try not to fall in love with the smile, but I kind of do. “I know, you look at how punk rock I am and you’re like, ‘there’s no way this kid knows any good music,’ but I kinda have a thing for sixties music.” 

I start laughing halfway through, my stomach evidently liking the feeling. “Nah, I like My Chemical Romance, too.” I point at his shirt. 

“That’s good.” he nods. “It’d be a shame if you didn’t.” 

“Why would it be a shame?” 

“Dunno, probably wouldn’t like you as much, I guess.”

“But you don’t even know me.” 

“I could, though.” he says to me, a big smile on his face. “I’m Ryan.” 

“Brend–” 

“Brendon, I know.” he tells me. “I was here last night, remember?” 

I nod, blushing slightly. I look down at my guitar embarrassingly. So yeah, I’m not that great at hiding a crush. I’m awkward around them, blush way too much, and tend to ruin every chance I might have with them. My first boyfriend, Marco, was strangely into me a lot so I had to do no work. And, I mean, he was attractive and I was really desperate to have that love feeling everyone talked about. We stopped talking after a mutual breakup, even if we said we were still going to be friends. I’ve never really experienced that whole terrible, soul-crushing heartbreak yet. Oh, and sex, that hasn't happened for me yet, either. 

“So, um, you play guitar?” I ask, feeling really stupid the second I say it. 

Ryan just nods, laughing lightly under his breath. “Yeah, kind of.” he pauses. “You?” 

I nod and grip the guitar more for emphasis. “Obviously.” 

“Is that a rule here? Like, to get a job at Guitar Center do you have to be able to play guitar or…?” 

“I’m not sure.” I say, randomly plucking open strings. “I think most people that apply here just know how to. That, or they know drums or bass.” 

Ryan nods and starts playing something that sounds effortless even if he’s flying across the frets. I stop my playing completely and watch him. He doesn’t exactly look deep in concentration, either. He just nods his head to a changing tempo and I stare, completely amazed. 

“Wow, you’re good.” 

He looks up, his eyes clouded and I can practically see the musical notes flying through his vision. “Thanks, don’t hear that often.” 

“Why not?” I ask. If I could play like that I would expect flowing compliments. 

“My dad doesn’t exactly enjoy my, uh, musical endeavors.” he tells me, slouching over the acoustic, and starts playing again. “I need an acoustic. They’re quieter and stuff. I don’t have any extra money right now, though.” 

“You should try to get a job here.” I offer, kind of getting excited at the thought of Ryan coming here on a daily basis. “I mean, Pete doesn’t mind hiring younger workers…” I kind of want to ask for his age but I know it’s rude to ask. 

“I’m nineteen. Old enough, then?” he asks, biting his lip slightly. 

“You’re older than me?” I wonder out loud. 

He only laughs. “I always look younger than everyone.” He rolls his eyes playfully. “So, you’re serious, then? I could maybe get a job here?” 

“Yeah.” I nod happily. “Want me to get you an application?” 

“Sure.” 

I stand up, putting the guitar up where I got it and see Ryan doing the same. He follows me out, me not having to remind him to keep the door shut. “You should probably stay here.” I tell him once we get to the back area. 

I go down the hallway, nearly tripping on a few cases and boxes on the way to Pete’s office. I get kind of nervous as I knock on his door, hoping that he won’t get angry at me for bothering him. Pete’s a good boss, though. He’s really calm, minus that one time someone thought it would be funny to smash a guitar in the store, and he plays bass more than he actually works. It’s not exactly a strange occurrence to find him seated by a pile of amps, working through tricky riffs that he’s made up but still can’t manage to play. 

“Hey,” I say when he lets me know I can go in. “I was wondering if I could have an application to give to someone. He’s, uh, cool and can play guitar really well.” 

Pete pushes his jet black hair from his eyes, looking up from a pile of papers. “Wait, is this the same kid who has been coming here for like a week but hasn't bought anything?” 

I look around nervously. “I...don’t know. I saw him last night but not before.” 

“He’s got that whole emo look to him, right? Wears all black and can play guitar, like, really fucking great?” 

“That sounds about right.” I gulp, hoping that I haven’t suggested Pete hire someone completely wrong for the job. 

“Yes! Let’s hire the kid! Is he still here?” he jumps up from his seat. 

“Well, I mean, I was asking for an application for him so...yeah.” 

“Great! Let’s go talk to him.” Pete pulls out a paper from his filing cabinet and then a pen from his desk.

I nod and then we hurry back to the front of the store. I look around, not seeing Ryan right away. I find him quickly, him slouched over a new guitar in one of the rows of amps. I lead Pete over to him and Ryan doesn't look up right away. 

“Hey, Ryan, this is Pete, my manager.” I tell him, clearing my throat at first. 

“Oh, hi.” he says, looking up at Pete. “I’m Ryan, obviously.” 

Pete narrows his eyes at him. “Play something.” he demands, a challenging tone to his words. 

Ryan only smiles slyly back and looks down at his guitar. He plays something I haven’t heard yet. He plays it just as well as before and I’m still kind of amazed. He stops abruptly, looking up with a questioning look on his face. 

“Why do you want a job again?” Pete asks. 

“I wanna get an acoustic guitar but I’m broke.” Ryan shrugs, fingers playing something again without him even looking down. 

Pete nods, an approving look on his pale face. “Cool, you’re hired.” 

“Shouldn’t he fill out the application, Pete?” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s smart. Here.” he shoves the paper and pen at Ryan. “You haven’t been, like, convicted of any crimes, right?” 

“Not that I know of.” Ryan says, using the back of the electric guitar as a hard surface to mark on the application. 

“Sweet, then you’ll probably get the job.” Pete tells him picking up a lonesome bass and he sits down in the stool next to Ryan. I watch as he plugs in the bass and plays a riff. 

“Hey, I know that song!” Ryan exclaims, abandoning his application on the ground, then starting to strum his guitar. 

I just kind of stare at them both, playing a song together. I’m jealous. I’ve never gotten to play with Pete. Plus, Pete didn’t tell me I’d get the job before I even filled out the application. I feel kind of pathetic as they play through the song. Pete looks up at me partway through. 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Pete asks. 

“Oh, yeah, um, yeah.” I stumble through my words, going back to the acoustic room. 

I work for maybe an hour before I notice Pete walking back to his office and I barely get time to fix my hair before Ryan bursts into the acoustic room looking happy. 

“Hey, I thought I should thank you for, you know, helping me get the job.” he says, sitting down on the bench next to me. 

“No problem. Plus, I think your guitar playing helped a lot. Pete tends to make impulsive decisions like that.” 

“Seems convenient for me.” he tells me. “But we should hang out or something.” 

Cue the part where I internally freak out. He wants to “hang out”. Okay, so maybe I’m getting ahead of myself but even the prospect of having a new friend is exciting for a kid like me. For once, I’m not the one that has to initiate the relationship. 

“Um, yeah, th-that could happen.” I rammer, feeling my face heat up. 

“Hey! I think Radiohead is playing on Tuesday. I’ve seen them a few times. Great live. You?” 

“Have I…? No.” 

I shake my head, feeling myself get even more jealous of seemingly perfect Ryan. My parents won’t even let me suggest the thought of going to a concert. They think I’ll get AIDS from just being in the same room as a bunch of “punk hooligans”. The thing is, I’d give anything to go to a live show. Ryan just seems like the kind of kid who gets to go to shows all the time and knows how to weed his way to the barricade. 

“Man, you have to see them live, it’s great. You like their music, right? You better. What’s your number?” 

“I like their music.” I say because I really do, actually love them. “And, um, do you have any paper… or a pen?” Ryan rolls his eyes and grabs for the Sharpie that’s hanging around my neck on my name tag. He hands it out to me and holds out his hand. “You realize that’s permanent.” 

“Good, I won’t forget.” he smirks. I blink a few times, suppressing an amused laugh, and then write my phone number on the palm of his hand. “Cool, I’ll send you the details. See you Tuesday, then?” 

“Yeah, of course. Bye, Ryan.” 

“Bye, Bren, make sure not to die before Tuesday.” Ryan quips, flashing me a wide smile before turning and leaving the room. 

I kind of just stare at him with wide eyes. No one really asks me to hang out with them. I almost feel bad for Ryan if this is just some kind of pity invitation. He didn’t really say anything about just wanting to hang out with me just because I got him a job, but I feel as if it’s implied. People don’t usually want to just spend time with me unless it’s obligatory.

After my shift is over, my hands sweaty from nervous thinking, I go out to the counter to be greeted by Jon. He’s nodding his head to the song on the speakers and tapping along with his fingers. I smile when I walk up to him, preparing myself for a mentally pre-planned speech. 

“Bden, what’s up?” Jon asks. 

I shrug lightly. “Eh, just glad work’s over today.” I tell him. “So, um, can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure…” 

“Are you, like, in a band right now?” I start off timidly. Jon just shakes his head a little bit, looking mildly interested. “Okay, well, my friend, Spencer– I think you’ve met him before– we’re trying to put together this band and I can sing and play guitar and stuff, and he can play drums. We figure if you joined we’d have a, you know, whole band.” 

Jon’s face crinkles in what looks like thought. “I mean, I’m not really doing anything right now, so why not? Do you guys have any songs or is this, like, brand new?” 

“I have a few songs. I’m not sure how great they are, though. It would be nice to just work with a full band.” 

“Yeah, yeah, totally get what you’re saying.” Jon nods and suddenly this feels much too formal. 

“That’s cool. Um, I’ll text you or something when we should all get together.” 

Jon nods again and then I do too, feeling like this is finally coming together. I drop my smile to the ground, feeling like my dorky grin is too much for Jon to even see. I wave goodbye and exit the store, wondering if all of this is stupid. It probably is. 

***

“He’s a friend from church.” I lie to my parents about Ryan, feeling immensely guilty for it already. 

It’s Tuesday night already and I’ve managed to completely put off asking my parents about the concert until I have five minutes until Ryan comes to pick me up. He’s been texting me nonstop since Sunday night. Apparently he got the job at Guitar Center and he’s going to be my coworker starting Friday night. It’s all a little exciting for me considering I don’t usually get that much attention and for some reason, Ryan is always bathing me in it. 

“I’ve never heard of a Ryan From Youth Group before.” my mom points out, putting a casual hand on her hip. 

“Obviously, Mom. That’s why I want to go and help him because he’s new to all this stuff.” 

“That’s really sweet of you, Bren, but why can’t you do it here?” 

I try not to giggle because sure I’ll do Ryan here, or there, or anywhere. A half-closeted homosexual raised in a religious family derived of sex? Check. My immature humor is short lived by the way my mom is glaring at me. I know I’m eighteen and I can leave and do all I want but my mom doesn’t even care. She always says that it doesn’t matter; as long as I’m living in her house, I follow her rules. 

A loud car horn pulls me out of my reveries. “That would be Ryan...sorry, Mom.” I exclaim, grabbing a copy of The Bible from the kitchen table before running out of the house. I run off into the yard and plop into Ryan’s passenger seat, slamming the door shut. I chuck my parents’ favorite book of choice onto the floor of Ryan’s car and hope I’ll never have to open it again. 

“You’re the first person I’ve ever met that would think to bring a Bible to a concert...so, uh, looks like you get bonus points from God.” 

“Ha.” I laugh sarcastically and coldly, hoping he gets the picture. “If my parents ever ask, you go to youth group with me and I’m teaching you important lessons about Mark and Luke and stuff.” 

“Mark? I don’t think I know a Mark.” Ryan tells me, casting a glance at me. I look dumfounded at him. “Kidding. I’m Catholic. Well, my father is. You super religious, then?” 

“I’m atheist. My parents aren’t, though.” I say, completely skipping the part that my whole family is Mormon because people tend to make jokes. 

“Ah, so you’re a rebel, huh?” he throws me a sly smile. 

“Hardly.” I scoff. 

“We should totally change that.” he tells me. 

I just smile nervously and try not to fidget. Ryan says things like that a lot. I’m not even sure if he means it in a sexual way. Probably a joking manner. Spencer and I make those kinds of jokes a lot. But I’m not attracted to Spencer, nor do I wonder how he would possibly do in bed like I do for Ryan. Which I don’t… 

“You smoke?” I ask, suddenly seeing Ryan pulling out a box of cigarettes, smacking the side of it strangely. 

“Was that a ‘you smoke? Ew!’ or a ‘you smoke? Cool, can I have one?’? Because I honestly don’t know with you.” 

“No, I don’t want one.” I deny right away. “I just… You know it’s bad for you, right?” 

He just laughs at me like he knows something I don’t and lights the butt. “Yeah, Kid, I do.” 

It doesn't take that long to get to the venue and I’m looking out the window at all the people who are waiting outside. Prior to text conversations, Ryan and I decided to come a good twenty minutes early so we wouldn’t have to stand all the way back. I’m practically shaking with excitement because I get to see a band live and now I’m practically hyperventilating. 

“You okay?” Ryan asks. 

“I’ve never been to a concert.” I finally confess, feeling like some kind of blushing virgin which, in case you forgot, I still am. 

“Seriously? Wow. You’re going to have so much fun. God, I remember my first show. Good times. You ready?” Ryan asks pulling out the keys, the car suddenly parked a little ways from the doors. 

I nod furiously and then we get out. Ryan goes around the car, walking shoulder to shoulder by me, and then stops. I look back to him and then follow his hardened gaze. 

“Are those gay protesters?” he asks me. 

“Well, ‘God hates fags’ sounds like gay slander, but maybe it’s a typo and God doesn't like computer lags or something.” 

Ryan looks over to me, a confused and amused look on his face. He grabs my hand and starts jogging towards them, forcing me forward with him. “You guys don’t like gay people?” he asks them with a confidence I could only dream of having.

“No!” a few of them shout at us. 

“Cool.” Ryan smirks, a knowing look in his eyes. 

Before I can ever try to figure what the heck Ryan is up to, he smashes his lips to mine. I nearly choke, but keep my composure and go with the kiss. It’s probably the fastest kiss ever, but it feels longer than that. He pulls away when he gets pushed, nearly knocking him to the ground. I grab his arm so he doesn't fall to his certain death. He’s just laughing up a storm and I can’t help but to join in. 

“Get out of here, faggots!” they shout at us. 

We walk away and find the queue of people waiting for the concert. I can finally breathe again once I’m leaning against the brick wall, licking my lips. I can still taste Ryan’s cigarette breath and warm lips on me and it’s just pleasant. Wow, I really like Ryan. That’s that. I barely know the guy and I’m already preparing our vows...just great.

“Are you gay?” I ask abruptly, glancing at Ryan. 

“Eh. I just think that that,” he points to the protesters, “is fucking bullshit. When I still went to church we sang this song and it taught me an important lesson: Jesus loves me, this I know. Still not completely sure about God, though. Kind of a cliffhanger of a song if you think about it…” he trails on, looking up into the sky maybe for a glimpse of God. “You?” 

“You what?” 

“Are you gay?” 

“Um, yeah.” 

It gets silent after that and I almost feel ashamed for saying yes. I obviously know now that Ryan doesn't care about that, but still something about his reaction worries me. Maybe he’s the kind of person who says gay rights are fine but they still treat gay people like the plague. I try to distract myself by looking at the people who are waiting for the show. There are a ton of kids that look kind of like Ryan, wearing black band shirts and skinny jeans that are so tight you can see the indent of their phone in the pockets. I look completely out of place with my loose, passed down from older brothers, jeans and polo. I mean, I could have known that this was going to happen but I don’t have any acceptable clothes to wear to a concert. 

“You’ve seriously never been to a concert?” Ryan asks. He’s leaning against the brick wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s kind of the epitome of cool in my book. 

“My parents don’t like them.” I explain. “I’m the youngest in the family–the baby– so my parents don’t like to take any risks on me.” 

Ryan hums what must be understanding. I watch as he pulls out the cigarette box again. “You know,” he says, a cigarette now placed between his lips just hanging there without being lit, “if I had to choose my all time favorite moments ever,” Ryan lights the cigarette finally, inhaling languidly, “I would choose concerts. They’re great. You’ll see why, Kid.” 

“I’m not that much younger than you.” I refer to the fact that he calls me a kid. 

“It’s a term of endearment.” 

The line starts moving all of a sudden but only a little chunk of people actually get inside. In hopes that time will go by faster, I think back to the kiss I had with Ryan not even ten minutes ago. That was our first kiss. Just an impulsive thing to do from Ryan’s standpoint. It’s a little scary because, including what happened today, I’ve only been kissed three times. That’s it. I kind of wish for the day when I can stop counting. 

“Alright, listen up. When people tell you you’re not allowed to push your way to the barricade, they’re lying. If someone freaks out about us slipping past them to get to the front, ignore them and keep going. Also, I wouldn’t recommend getting into a mosh pit. You look fragile, Brendon, and they will love that. Oh, and if a tech tells us to move away from the stage, don’t listen. Hold onto the barricade like it’s your fucking life, okay?” 

I nod in all the right parts, a tad scared. Why would techs tell us to move away from the stage? What’s a mosh pit? I still keep my mouth shut and pretend like I totally know all of this. 

We finally get our hands stamped and sent into the large doors of the venue. Right away, I see a ton of people gathered everywhere in large clumps. There’s a merchandise table full of flashy shirts that proudly present “Radiohead”. 

“Always get shirts afterwards even if the lines are fucking miles long.” Ryan advises me, pulling me away from the table and towards the stage, our hands entwining. It only makes me more nervous. “Just follow my lead, alright?” 

I nod even if there’s no way he could see when he’s pushing his way through the crowds. I just stay behind, our hands keeping us together. Some people push us a little, muttering harsh curses at us. Ryan just weaves through the crowd, an effortless mantra about him. Probably because we’re both so small. It only gets harder the closer we are to the stage. Soon enough, though, Ryan is shoving me right next to him and shouting at me to hold onto the metal bar of the barricade.

It takes practically forever but the support band does finally take the stage and I’m happy to find out I know them. The second the bass drum kicks in, pouring through the speakers that are right next to us, I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. Ryan and I exchange these matching, excited smiles. Before I know it, I’m jumping up and down to the beat of the music, Ryan and about a hundred others bumping into me. 

*** 

“Wow.” I mutter for the umpteenth time tonight. 

We’re walking back to Ryan’s car. The concert was amazing, essentially the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s crazy how almost everyone knows the lyrics and for that one line where the singer just holds out the microphone, we all sing them back to him. It’s that moment on his face that makes me want to become a performer. It’s the way that he just looked at us all and smiled. Makes me want that moment more than anything in the world. 

I felt things that I have never felt. It was almost like when people at church talk about “feeling God’s presence” or something. I never really got caught up in all of that, but while I was at the concert, I think that feeling is kind of like going to a concert. 

“You had a good time, then?” Ryan asks anxiously, biting his lip as if he’s worried about my approval. 

“Yes! Oh my gosh. Yes. Why have I been deprived of concerts my entire life? I mean...wow.” 

“You seriously need a new word for wow. May I suggest ‘fuck’ or even ‘holy fuck’ because you’ve still got that whole ‘I love God’ look about you.” Ryan suggests, twinkling his eyes at me. 

“I don’t curse much.” I admit, still a little kid when it comes to cursing. 

Ryan suddenly halts. “Seriously? You know, now that you mention it I don’t think I have ever heard you curse. Come on, Bren, join the dark side and say fuck or something.” 

I can feel my face heat up and I mumble, “Fuck.” 

“What? I can’t hear you?” 

“Fuck.” I say a little louder. 

“What was that, you coward?” 

“Fuck!” I shout, feeling suddenly more powerful. 

“Yes!” Ryan yells, laughing loudly. “Now someone thinks we’re either fucking or in a fight.” 

I feel myself blushing again, the thought of either of the two. Sure I can think of the dirtiest things in my head but when talking about suggestive themes out loud with other people, I’m utterly awkward. I still manage a small laugh, watching as Ryan unlocks his car and we get inside. 

“Speaking of fucking,” he says, “I can totally say now that I took your concert virginity.” 

“Um, okay?” 

“And you said I was good!” 

“I said the concert was good!” 

Ryan just rolls his eyes at me, driving away from the venue. He shakes his head slightly, getting sweaty hair off from his forehead. I do the same just then, realizing how annoying it is. 

“My parents are never going to believe I was teaching you the bible. Unless we decided to jog to the church to check over something.” I complain. 

Ryan laughs in that lazy way he tends to do frequently. “Just say you got so caught up in the magic of God.” 

“Yeah, and it made me sweat a ton and smell like cigarettes and other people’s sweat.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you, rebel.” assures Ryan, stopping at my house.

“I’ll just sneak off into my room and say I’m tired.” I mumble, noticing that the lights are out. “If they’re even up.” 

“Good luck.” Ryan says, sending me a little wave as I get out. “See you at work, then?” 

“Yeah, Friday. Um, I had a good time, though. Thanks for inviting me and stuff.” 

“God, you’re so formal. Get out of my car.” he laughs. 

I only smile at him and then slam the door as hard as I can, laughing under my breath. 

***

I look into the mirror, my reflection annoying me a little. My hair annoys me because it won’t look good. Last night at the concert I saw a ton of guys with hair that looked a million times better than mine and I’m a hairdresser. I could probably just cut my own hair but my parents probably wouldn’t approve of anything I wanted to do. In the mirror, my nose looks far too big and my glasses add to my whole nerd style I’ve got going.

“Brendon...someone is here for you.” my mom says, sounding far too suspicious. I instantly know who it is and make a run for the door. My mom is talking to him already, though. “Oh, so you’re the Ryan From Youth Group. You coming with Brendon, then, tonight? I bet Brendon could drive you.” 

“Mom.” I say, blushing as I notice Ryan’s smile on his face. 

“Um, yeah, I’m from...youth group and I’m…” Ryan trails on, maybe unsure of what to answer with. He looks my way and I nod profusely. “…going to youth group with Brendon tonight.” 

“Okay, well it was nice meeting you, Ryan.” She turns to me. “Oh, Mia, Amanda, and Devon are coming over on Saturday. So, after work, be here. Make good choices, Brenny.” 

“I’m going to church, Mom. There isn’t that many bad choices I can make there.” I say sarcastically, pulling Ryan out of my doorway, shutting the door dramatically. 

“You shouldn't have come on a Wednesday night.” I mention to him once I’m sure my mom can’t hear us. “Why are you even here?” 

“You forgot your bible in my car.” Ryan says. “I guess I’ll need it now that I’m going to church. A Mormon church.” 

“Sorry, but you kind of have to now.” 

“Who’s coming over on Saturday?” Ryan bugs. 

“My brother and sisters.” I say, already fretting it.

I unlock my car doors and point to the passenger seat. Ryan sighs and then goes to open the door. The entire ride there Ryan is messing with radio, putting on shitty pop music. He starts randomly singing along to a song with a copious amount of sexual innuendos. Ryan’s usual monotone voice dips and turns at all the right places and I end up singing along with him. I’m not completely sure when I picked up the lyrics but Ryan and I just belt them out, not even caring when at a stoplight the car next to us starts laughing. 

“Damn, you can sing.” Ryan says once the song finishes and he turns down the volume of the radio. 

I blush a little because that song wasn’t remotely hard to sing and I didn’t even get to show off my broad range. If there is anything I know I’m good at, it’s singing. “Surprise.” I mutter, turning into the parking lot of the church, also known as my hell. 

“Nothing better than a sing along to a song meant for people to dirty dance to right before church.” 

I chuckle a little, finding myself seriously falling in love with how sarcastic Ryan is all the time. Still, he looks a little weary as he walks into the large building. The place is deathly silent until we get to the youth wing. There are kids everywhere, some playing board games, some talking. There’s even a place where you can purchase snacks to support the church. I’ve worked there on several occasions because my parents told me I would meet friends. That didn’t happen. Just as we get in, the kids get herded into the room where the service is held. I start taking that dreaded walk as well. 

“Wait!” Ryan squeaks, suddenly on the ground, tying up his shoelaces. 

I do wait for Ryan, tapping my foot impatiently. I watch as the remaining kids file into the room and we’re left behind. “Come on. I don’t wanna be late.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” he mumbles switching to his other shoe. 

There’s a loud slam and I realize the doors have been closed. I whirl around to find Ryan standing up from the ground looking accomplished. “Took them long enough.” 

I sigh audibly, stressing how annoyed I’m at him. “I can’t skip these, alright? My parents are friends with these kid’s parents and then they will find out and I’ll get in trouble and–”

“Calm down, Brendon.” Ryan says with finality, putting a hand on my shoulder. I try to pretend like it doesn’t bother me as much it does. “We are not going to youth group and you’ll be fine. The kids saw us enter and they’ll see us leave.” 

I stare at the church door, my worry pouring into my head. I try to brush it all away. “This isn’t the place to go around and have fun in, okay? It’s church.” I try to explain to Ryan. 

“Goddamn! You need–” 

“Ryan!” I say loudly. “You can’t curse in a church.” 

“Who’s going to do something to me, huh?” Ryan points at a picture of Jesus on the wall. “Him? He’s not real and you know that.” I shyly look down at the floor, knowing that this is a bad idea but still wanting to know how it will pan out. “That’s what I thought, now let’s go get food.” 

I watch in horror as Ryan starts over to the food counter, grabbing a bag of Skittles and a hotdog. He starts walking off and I stop him. “Woah, okay, you can curse in church, but you can’t steal food!” I hiss at him. 

Ryan rolls his eyes, putting the food on the counter to pull out his wallet. “I was getting there.” he claims, checking the prices and then putting two dollars on the counter. 

“It’s two-twenty-five.” I tell him, pushing his food away from him. 

“Fine.” he says grudgingly, finding a loose quarter and placing it onto the counter with the bills. “Man, church is expensive.” 

I just roll my eyes and I watch a smile slide across Ryan’s face. We start walking away and I’m suddenly filled with more fear. “You can’t just walk around. We’ll get, like, damned to hell.” 

Ryan laughs and I kind of want to listen to it on repeat. “I’m pretty sure if it’s real, I already have a ticket there.” 

Ryan grabs my hand and he tugs me into a world that I never thought existed. He leads me through the winding halls of the church, us hiding around bends when important-looking people pass by. Soon enough, Ryan peeks into a dark room and his eyes light up. He’s pushing me into the room and finding a light switch before I can tell him it’s a bad idea. I nervously shut the door once Ryan lights up the room. 

“This place is for little kids.” I inform him, looking around the gymnasium. 

“Perfect.” Ryan says. 

I watch as he sprawls across the gym floor on his back. He looks up at me, as if he’s waiting for me to join him. I look around the gym, feeling like there is someone hiding and ready to bust us. I sigh when I realize how ridiculous I am. I place my body a few inches from Ryan’s, not touching his shoulder, but still being able to feel his body heat. 

“Skittle?” he offers the open packet of Skittles to me. I open my hand and he pours part of it into my palm. “Okay, question game. You first.” 

“Question game?” I inquire, trying to eat the candy without choking on it. 

Ryan turns his head, a disgusted look on his face. “You seriously don’t know the question game?” I only shake my head, an acute form of shame dripping from my eyes. Ryan just mock sighs. “It’s as simple as it sounds. I ask a question to you. Then you ask a question to me. No repeating questions and you have to be completely honest.” 

“This doesn’t sound like a game.” I mumble but then realize Ryan is waiting for me to ask him a question. “Um, what’s your favorite color?” 

Ryan just starts laughing at me but then starts choking on his candy. He rolls over a little, coughing into his palm. I just watch, kind of laughing at him. He finally stops, his body suddenly closer to mine. Suddenly our shoulders are touching and there’s something intimate about this. “Thanks for the help.” he croaks sarcastically. “And green. What do you want to do when you get older?” 

“Anything that pays well.” I say, even if I’m pretty sure that I’ll end up with a shitty job because I’m not good at anything but music and that isn’t exactly a stable job according to my parents. “What’s your favorite childhood memory?” 

I look over to Ryan, who’s smiling at me, an impressed look on his face. “Ask a harder question, Brendon.” he quips. “Um, I guess one Thanksgiving when my dad left on some business thing and I got to spend it alone. It was actually a really great time.” 

“By yourself? That sounds awful.” I tell him, not even being able to tell him how scary that sounds for me. 

“It was perfect, trust me. What instruments do you play?” 

“Guitar, piano, a little bass and cello, um, drums, oh and violin, and I tried playing trumpet in band for a while.” 

“Holy shit. What are you, Mozart or something?” he laughs and it sounds more careful so he doesn’t choke on the Skittles. 

“It’s all a little impractical, trust me.” I explain. “Um…do you have a girlfriend?” 

Ryan looks over to me and it makes me way too nervous. He must be able to tell how I really like him. Still, Ryan just looks over at me like he’s unsure to speak his mind. “No, but there’s this girl I’m working on.” 

Something about the way he says “working on” makes me think of her as a garden and not a girl. Part of me wonders in that stupid ‘I’m a hopeless romantic’ kind of self if he’s talking about me. But, you know, I’m not a girl and I seriously doubt it. 

“Have you ever been in love?” Ryan asks suddenly and I can already tell the turn the game has taken. I’m not exactly thrilled to have to talk about romance but this is technically my fault. 

“No, I don’t think so. Did you like your first kiss?” 

“No. Have you had sex before?” 

Well, that escalated quickly. 

I feel my mouth open slightly, not being able to look Ryan’s way but feeling vulnerable. Why didn’t I guess this question was coming up? “Uh, no.” I say timidly. Ryan doesn't laugh but I have a feeling he’s smiling. “We, um, should probably get back to the church. Or. You know.” I finally look over to Ryan, he’s repressing a smile and I push him slightly. This only makes him double in laughter. “Yes, let’s all make fun of Brendon’s v-card.” 

“Sorry, I’m not laughing at how you’re a virgin, Brendon.” he tells me. “I’m just laughing at how embarrassed you were. Like,” he starts laughing even more and I feel my face heat up. “See! You’re doing it now.” 

I turn my head away from him. “It’s all so funny.” I say sarcastically. 

“Alright, okay, sorry.” Ryan says, lying even closer to me. “It’s your turn.” 

***

Friday nights are easily the busiest times at Guitar Center. A ton of people just decide to show up, a never-ending trail of pointless questions and wasted assistance. I’m restocking the sheet music, scanning across the list of musicians’ names, trying to find Taylor Swift. It’s Ryan’s first day but he seems content and at home while he works. Every once in a while, my eyes will flicker over to his form without my consent. He’s always bobbing his head to the music that plays in a loop every day. I stuff a few copies of Taylor Swift’s sheet music book into the correct place and then move onto Metallica.

Someone starts tapping their drumsticks on the shelf next to me. I try to keep my sigh to myself, shuffling away. 

“Seriously, man?” 

I look up to be met with Spencer’s blue eyes. He’s got on a smile, twirling the drumstick in his hand. “You just get here?” 

“Yup.” he says, stuffing the drumsticks in his jean pockets, the tips sticking out awkwardly. He walks closer to me, snatching the sheet music from me. “How do you do this all day? People that buy Carrie Underwood’s sheet music need to be sent somewhere special.” 

“Some people like country.” I shrug, grabbing back the papers and locating the U section. “So, what’re you doing here, besides bugging me while I’m working?” 

“I can’t visit my friend at his place of business?” he asks innocently. 

“Maybe.” I finish with the restocking, realizing that it’s my break now. “Do you plan this?” 

Spencer only makes an attempt to laugh evilly and it only makes me question his sanity. “I just know your breaks. It’s not that weird.” 

I only shrug. “Do you wanna meet Ryan?” 

“Ooh, yeah, I forgot about this mysterious Ryan.” he smiles deviously at me. Maybe I should stop being so honest to Spencer. I mean, I did go on for a good twenty minutes about how I could smell Ryan’s hair when we were in the gymnasium at church. “Lead the way, Romeo.” 

“Don’t say anything, Spence. Seriously.” I warn him, casting a grimace his way. 

“Don’t worry.” 

I walk to the counter, waiting on the empty side as Ryan finishes up with a customer. “Yeah, and then the dog was like stuck in the water and I only had one life vest and, I mean, you gotta prioritize. So, I was, like, ‘Ryan, you gotta call someone’ and–” 

I look over to Spencer, who’s just smiling cautiously at Ryan. I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about, but I hope to God the customer doesn’t, like, return their purchases. To my surprise the customer only laughs and then tells a quick tale about a boating excursion he went on. Seriously, why is Ryan so good at conversations? 

“Ryan, this is my friend Spencer. Spencer, this is Ryan.” I say when the customer finally leaves. 

“Hey, it’s nice to finally meet you after how much Brendon talks about you.” Spencer says, holding out a friendly hand for Ryan to shake. 

“I don’t...talk about you that much.” I defend myself from inevitable teasing. 

“Well, I haven’t really heard that much about you so this is a good start, I guess.” Ryan says, smiling at both of us as he fiddles with the cash register, opening up a roll of quarters. 

“I’m never doing this again.” I mutter melodramatically. 

“What again?” Jon asks out of nowhere. 

“Introducing people.” I say. 

“Are you releasing me from hell, Jon?” Ryan asks, an excitement bubbling in his voice. Jon makes jazz hands and nods his head. “Fuck! Yes! Jon, you are a savior…It is my break, right?” 

Jon only chuckles. “Yeah. Run free, young one.” 

“We’re the same age.” Ryan complains. 

“I’m gonna go check out the drums.” Spencer says, obviously not taking interest in any of this. He doesn’t beckon for me to come with him, but I can tell he wants me to. 

“Cool. Brendon, come play guitar with me.” Ryan states, pulling me by the sleeve of my flannel button-up. 

I flash an apologetic look at Spencer, who only rolls his eyes and goes to the drum section. Ryan picks up the same guitar I first saw him with, holding it by the neck and going over to an empty row of amps. I spend more time picking out a light green Fender Stratocaster and then make my way over to Ryan. He smiles at presumably my choice in guitar. 

“Does Spencer not play guitar?” Ryan asks me. 

“Nah, he’s more of a drum kid. I’ve tried teaching him. He always says his fingers are too short. He could do it if he tried, though.” I chuckle, the memory of Spencer freaking out because the tips of his fingers stung. 

Ryan just looks confused as to why I’m laughing. His visage clears up too quickly for me to memorize it. “You and Spencer close, then?” 

“Mm, best friends.” I nod. “Surprisingly, I don’t have that many of those.” 

“Can I sit here?” someone says from next to me. I turn around slightly to see a guy my age, a guitar in his grip, pointing at the seat next to mine. 

“Sure.” I nod, taking in his appearance. His eyes are a striking blue that remind me of Spencer and his hair is strawberry blonde, dipping into his eyes. When he smiles at me, his teeth are completely straight, which is probably the result of braces. In all, he’s gorgeous. 

“Cool.” he says, sitting down and plugging in his guitar, the little buzzing noise resounding through our ears before the cord finds the right input. 

I stop staring and look back down to the neck of my own guitar. I vaguely remember a song I’ve been writing, but decide this would be an okay time to practice it. I shuffle through chords, my eyes flickering over to the boy next to me. My hands get sweaty and it’s only embarrassing to me. Seriously, I’m like a middle schooler when it comes to me being around someone I find attractive. 

“You’re good at guitar.” he says, pulling me out of my reveries. 

“Thanks.” I blush a little, which I don’t normally do when it comes to musical instruments because I know I am good at them. “You, too.” 

He smiles full on, his hand noticeably tightening on the grip of his guitar, resulting in his fingertips going white. “Thanks, man.” he says. “Not to be...rude, but shouldn’t you be working?” 

A little part of me gets sad because that seems like a pretty clear notion for me to leave him alone. He was the one that did ask to sit by me, though. “Um, no, I mean, yeah, I work here, but it’s my break. They don’t mind us playing.” 

“That’s rad. I wish my job let me do that.” 

“Yeah, it’s–”

“We should probably get back.” Ryan says from beside me. 

I think I jump a little, completely forgetting about him being there. Ryan looks suspicious of something when I turn to him. I watch as he’s quick to unplug his guitar and motion to the front desk. 

I turn back to the kid I was talking to. “Sorry, I gotta go.” I mutter, standing up.

“Here, wait, lemme give you my number.” he smiles and it practically radiates confidence. It’s like he knows there is no way I’ll say no. He might just be right, too. 

For some reason he has a piece of paper in his pocket, and he rips off the corner of it, using the marker around my neck like Ryan did not that long ago. I take the paper from him, smiling shyly and then rushing off to put my guitar away. I try to walk calmly back to the front desk but I’m kind of way too excited. And, yeah sure, I really like Ryan but I hardly ever get numbers. This isn’t going to go by unnoticed especially when I’m not even sure if Ryan likes guys. 

“He gave me his number.” I tell Ryan dreamily, sitting down by the register. There might be a little part of me that hopes that Ryan will get jealous and proclaim his ever-lasting love for me but I’m pretty sure I’m stuck in fourth grade still. 

 

“You gonna call him?” Ryan asks, taking a seat in the adjacent counter’s stool. 

I fiddle with my name tag. “Should I?” 

Ryan just shrugs. “Kind of your decision.” 

Fuck you, Ryan Ross. You should be the one saying that I obviously shouldn’t and then be making up some ridiculous reason to why he’s probably someone I don’t want to associate with. But, no, Ryan Ross wants to show no signs of interest in me and it makes me way too upset. 

I barely even scorn myself for cursing in my head. 

***

And, yeah, Ryan is loaded. When he invited me to his house I really wasn’t expecting the extravagance I’m staring at. It’s cozy looking, nestled in a desolate road that I’ve never seen before. The driveway goes on for at least a quarter of a mile before we even see his house. Ryan drones on about how his dad is gone on some business trip as I get intimidated. 

“Why do you even have a job?” I ask rudely. 

Ryan glances over at me as he parks his car. He looks disappointed with me like I’m just another kid. “It’s my dad’s money. He doesn’t like to share.” he informs. “I don’t want it anyway.” 

“Stereotypical.” I say because I’m pretty sure I’ve watched this movie on Lifetime with my mom a few times. 

“Fuck off, Kid.” he scoffs, missing the venom it should have. 

We get inside, all the lights off. It almost seems lonely with all the empty, dark rooms we pass. Ryan shuffles across the wood flooring habitually and I’m kind of envious of it. He first goes in to a luxurious kitchen, searching through the cabinets. He asks me what I want to eat, but I just shrug. Food is food. He still prods my shoulder with his long finger and makes me choose from a bag of chips or a box of Girl Scout cookies. I choose the cookies. He takes me to his room and it’s painfully empty but full of furniture. 

“What do you wanna watch?” Ryan addresses me after we collapse on his bed. 

“I chose the food; your turn.” I tell him. 

“Nope.” he shakes his head firmly, picking up the remote and aiming it at the TV that hangs across the room. “You’re the guest, man.” 

“It’s fine. I don’t care what we watch.” I shrug again. 

“If you don’t choose anything we’re not going to watch anything.” he says stubbornly. 

“Okay.” I smile, testing him. 

To my surprise, Ryan just shuts off the TV and smirks at me as he opens the box of cookies. “So, how’s it going, Brendon.” 

Ryan barely calls me by my actual name. “Fine.” I say, eating a cookie so I don’t have to talk. I don’t like talking about myself. 

“You gonna call that kid back?” he asks, referring to the guy who was hitting on me at work. “Or are you just going to jerk off to the memory?” 

I blush instantly, looking down to the cookie in my hand that has a bite mark in it. “I wouldn’t do that!” I say quickly. 

“It’s kind of funny the way you act when I bring up anything sexual.” Ryan laughs at me. I look up a little, trying to convey that I’m not some ridiculous prude, but I might be. When I see Ryan’s menacing look, I can tell the teasing is going to ensue. “Like, have you even watched porn?” 

“I, uh–Ryan! Come on, just,” I ramble quickly because why does he always have to ask all the wrong questions? 

Ryan laughs at me, bits of Thin Mint falling out of his mouth. “Oh God, you haven’t, have you?” he keeps laughing as I duck my head in this twisted embarrassment. “You poor thing.” 

Sure, I’ve thought about it when I’m, like, really horny. There are way too many possible repercussions that come with it, though. Most of those are my parents. Something about the whole premise of porn is a little intimidating to me and the thought of it makes me feel way too dirty. 

“My parents could check my history, or, like, God, they would kill me, Ryan.” I stutter. 

Ryan gets up from the bed, grabbing me by the sleeve of my shirt. He pulls out from his bedroom. I feel like I’m on a leash and being punished as Ryan brings me to a room down the winding stairs. He pulls a chair up by his computer and that’s when I start connecting some things in my head. 

“What are you doing?” I ask cautiously. 

He looks at me like he’s taking pity on me. “You are way too innocent to be my friend.” he says sitting down, and motions to the chair. I sit down reluctantly, hoping he isn’t about to do what I think he is. Sadly, he answers the question for me. “So, you’re gay. Any preferences? Kinks?” 

“No, Ryan, this is not happening.” I say, incredibly scared. 

“Your parents aren’t here, little Brenny-boo. Now shut up and tell me what you want so I can defile you.” 

I hold back a retort about how I can’t shut up and tell him things at the same time. “Ryan.” I plead. 

“Brendon!” he mimics me, voice annoyingly high. I watch, terrified, as Ryan types rapidly. “Hm,” he glances over at my timid face and studies. He only smiles and then reads the categories of gay porn. I understand only a few of the terms. “This looks good. Oh, seriously, don’t jizz on the keyboard because that’s a party foul, Bren.” 

“No. I am not doing this.” 

Ryan just smiles at me sweetly and then clicks a video, turning up his volume. “This video is twenty-two minutes.” he laughs a little, pushing play on the video. “So, uh, you probably will.” 

I roll my eyes, obviously not ready to whip my dick out in front of Ryan if he’s not willing to touch it. I mentally shoot myself in the head for that thought. Still, though, the speakers start emitting the noises of two young guys making out furiously. I can feel my face heat up as the two semi-attractive guys go at it. My dick twitches in that obvious “hey, why aren’t you touching me?” kind of way and I hate everything at that very moment. I don’t want to leave because I’m not even sure where to go in his colossal house and I’ll probably look like I just want to go jerk off by myself. Which I most definitely do not want to do. Yeah. 

“Ryan, this is so stupid.” I assure him, looking over to his face. He actually looks really caught up in what is happening on the screen. I cringe when I realize that one of them has his pants off now, the other stroking his cock. This is single-handedly the most embarrassing moment of my life right here. The small noise of a belt being undone brings me out of the gay-porn-watching-trance. “What are you doing?!” 

“Shut...up.” Ryan says, his hand now down his pants and my life in pieces. 

“No, no, no, no.” I mutter, really wanting to get up and just leave and forget this ever happened. But that would mean leaving behind what is going on in the porn and it’s ridiculously hot. I can feel my dick shamelessly hardening in my pants, the material showing the obvious bump. 

The screen shows the two now both completely naked, one lathering lube on his hand and rubbing it on the other’s ass. It’s easily the most graphic thing I’ve ever watched. And it’s amazing. All I really want to do is join Ryan. Speaking of him, he’s letting out these rough noises, his hand pushed into his pants at an awkward angle. I try to keep my eyes off of him but holy fuck. 

“Don’t be a pussy.” Ryan says breathily. 

“You know, that’s pretty ironic considering what we’re–” I get cut off by a loud moan from Ryan and I can feel my face grow hot and my pants grow tighter. “Fuck you.” I hiss. 

I only catch a hint smile from Ryan before I’m ever-so impulsively unbuckling my belt. He’s led me to this. He honestly can’t expect me to listen to his personal porno soundtrack and watch two guys who are currently fucking and not do anything about it. I let out a small whimper, instantly embarrassed because Ryan seems impressed at my breaking. I watch the screen as they fuck messily, the one with swoopy brown hair letting his hands roam over the tan one’s body. I allow myself to slowly slide my hand up and down. I almost forget about Ryan being there until he lets out another moan. I can’t even hold in my matching one. 

I know I won’t last long after only a few strokes, the computer screen showing off way too much hotness, and the noises from the speakers are literally making me leak. I speed up my hand, the scene changing to one where the tan one is riding the brown haired kid. I completely lose it, not being able to contain my last groan. I close my eyes finally, remembering what they looked like and I just milk out the orgasm for what it’s worth. I feel waves of pleasure hit me and I easily forget that Ryan is literally right next to me. 

Once I finally stop coming, feeling like I’m completely and utterly spent, I slit open my eyes. Ryan is across from me and I suddenly realize he’s already finished. He closes the video, our heavy breathing suddenly the only thing to listen to. He reaches across the desk for a tissue box. Once he’s got one out I follow and everything feels hazy. 

“Told you.” Ryan singsongs, his voice sounding rough. 

I try to advert away from me. “I thought you weren’t gay?” 

He scoffs and starts to fix his belt. “Do you even know how many girls I know that get off to lesbian porn but aren’t lesbians?” 

I feel squeamish as he looks at me with a lazy smile on his face. “I don’t know, I just– I didn’t know that guys did that.” 

“Yeah, but how many guys are going to admit something like that?” Ryan laughs. 

I look away from him, feeling my face heat up which is ironic because I was just getting off right next to him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Baby, you can drive my car,” Ryan sings out loud to the Beatles’ song, completely ignoring the song that is playing on the speakers of the store. “Yes, I’m gonna be a star.” 

“Ryan!” I whine, laying my head down on the counter. “How many times are you going to sing that?” 

“Fuck off. It’s stuck in my head.” 

“You always have a song stuck in your head.” I complain. 

There are several people at Guitar Center this wonderful Saturday morning. They all seem older, the teenagers not even up yet. Ryan and I only have a few more minutes until our shifts end. Thankfully, not everything is really awkward between Ryan and me like I expected. We both kind of joked it off and then watched a real movie on his TV. I think we’re both pretending like it didn’t happen. Either way, Ryan has agreed to come to my house after work and play guitar with me. He keeps saying we don’t ever get enough time during break to properly jam. 

This morning while getting ready, I pointedly ignored taking one of my ADHD pills. I might have stared at the bottle for a good three minutes deciding that I could do this. I don’t need something to make me be calm. All it ever did was make me sad and irritable. Looks like I can be annoyed very easily without medicine. I still feel a little jumpy and my tapping is probably a little too insistent for Ryan. He hasn't said anything yet, though. Probably because he’s still too busy singing the entirety of a Beatles album during our matching shift. 

“What is today?” Ryan asks, a thoughtful look on his face. 

I narrow my eyes at him, a little confused. “It’s Tuesday. Didn’t we already go over this and you kept–”

“Goodbye ruby Tuesday,” Ryan screams out, his singing voice evidently not as high as the singer of The Rolling Stones. “Who could hang a name on you when you change with every new day!”

“Ryan! Please, not this again!” I yell, rolling my eyes and throwing a capped pen his way.

Ryan frowns at me and stops singing. “That is a great song.” he mutters more to himself. “You need a haircut, you know that?” Ryan says, putting his hand in my hair. 

I uncomfortably move my head away from his hand. “I know.” I mutter. 

“You should let me cut it.” 

“I’m the hairdresser, not you.” I roll my eyes. 

“God, when did you get all this sass?” he laughs, scratching the side of his head in a kind of irresistible way. “Seriously, though. I could do a great job.”

“Have you even cut hair before?” 

“No, but–”  

“You’re not touching my hair.” 

“You’re no fun.” Ryan says. “Hey, can you help me?” 

“With what?” I ask dryly.

“I kind of want to ask a girl out, but, like–I mean, I’ve asked girls out before, it’s just, I really like her and I don’t want to fuck this up, you know?” he pauses. “Okay, you personally probably don’t, but just pretend you do.” 

Part of me gets really excited because, God, what if he’s talking about me? I mean, the chances are really slim but maybe he’s too shy and worried. I mentally shoot myself. Brendon, wake up. He’s obviously actually talking about a girl with a vagina, which you don’t have. 

“Wow, thanks, Ry.” I mutter. “How can I help you with that again?” 

“Just like, pretend to be the girl. It shouldn’t be that hard.” he jokes, smiling at me. I sigh and nod, obviously not as amused. “Okay, um, hi.” 

“Hi,” I say, raising my voice slightly so I seem sort of like a girl. “I have a confession.” I keep going, trying to be serious. “I’m a lesbian.”

Ryan just pushes me roughly. “Very funny, Brendon.” 

“Hey, I’m giving you the worst case scenario.” 

I laugh and wait until Pete comes out of his office. He jokes around with Ryan, them both getting into this conversation about some heavy metal band I’ve never heard of. I head to the break room, finding my half-eaten lunch still in the fridge. I open the container, eating a few cold French fries, waiting for Ryan to hurry up. I start walking back to the front of the store until someone pushes me into the employee bathroom. 

“What the–” 

“Haircut time!” Ryan says happily, pushing my body into the counter with his hips. It leaves our bodies at a compromising angle and I try to wriggle away from him. “Pete even let me borrow his scissors! 

“Ryan.” I huff, still feeling his crotch on mine and seriously, stop. “You better not fuck this up.” 

“Glad you’re catching onto this whole cursing thing.” Ryan finally moves away a little, putting his hands in my hair. He untangles my bangs and then starts snipping away. 

“Not too short.” I tell him. 

“Indeed, my penis is not too short.” he snickers and keeps cutting my hair.

“You’re so immature.” I still manage not to blush.

Ryan just laughs more and keeps cutting. After a good ten minutes I complain that it’s taking too long. He promptly snips faster and then he says it’s good. I turn around to the mirror and cringe. 

“My God, Ryan, what did you do?” I say, running my fingers through my hair, little pieces falling out. “Give me the scissors.” 

I fix my bangs, now jaggedly cut down my face, the best I can. I fix the sides so they are even, but I know it’s still pretty bad. I shake my head over the sink, making the rest of the stray strands fall away. I look back into the mirror and I actually don’t mind it that much. 

“My parents are probably going to yell at me.” I mumble. 

“Good, you need to be more rebellious, Kid.” he says, smiling and taking the scissors back from me. “Kind of disappointed I can’t cut hair, though.” 

“Yeah, you should probably give up on that dream.” I smile at Ryan, leaning against the sink. 

“I guess.” he says, before opening the door to the bathroom. 

***

“Ryan From Youth Group!” 

You could say my mom is a little excited about me having a new friend. The only friend I ever have around the house is Spencer. I just can’t keep friends for the life of me. It’s probably because I get a little irritating after a while. Still, my mom is only occupied on Ryan’s existence before she is staring at my hair with fear shining in her eyes. 

“I got a haircut.” I manage. 

“Looks nice, doesn’t it?” Ryan says, obviously thinking he will help me out. 

“It’s…interesting.” is all my mom says. “Brendon, a word?” I stingily follow my mom around the corner, ready to get yelled at. “You realize that your siblings will be here soon? You do remember me telling you we’re eating a lunch together? Is Ryan eating here, then? I guess it would be rude to ignore him now, but–”

“What?” I ask because I honestly don’t remember my siblings being invited here. 

“Brendon Boyd! I told you about this on Wednesday right before you went to church. I swear, you forget everything.” 

“Wait, so Ryan can stay for lunch?” 

“Well, it would be quite rude to kick him out, now wouldn’t it be?” she asks rhetorically. 

I look at her, unimpressed and she soon dismisses me, telling me that my siblings will be here in less than ten minutes. I find Ryan still waiting in my foyer, looking confused. I drag him to my room quickly, ignoring my mother’s jarring looks. 

“You’re staying for lunch. My brother and sisters are coming over. You always come over at bad times.” I tell him as we go up the stairs. 

“So, I’m, like, sitting in on a family lunch?” he asks. 

“I guess.” 

“Is that a 101 Dalmatian blanket?” Ryan asks the second I open the door to my semi-messy bedroom. “Dude, you have a lava lamp!” 

“Why yes, I am still twelve.” I joke around as Ryan looks around my room. 

“No, man, your room is so cool compared to mine.” he says, walking around. 

He touches the spines of all the books on my bookshelf and looks through the covers of the various vinyls I have in a box. I just stand awkwardly by the door, waiting for my mom to call us down for lunch. I’m slightly nervous because my family is crazy. I know that every kid says that, but my family really is. Everyone is older than me so they’re all so sophisticated and mature. I’m just praying they don’t say anything to Ryan. Or vice versa. 

“Brendon!” Ryan shouts. “Your bed is amazing!” 

I turn around to find Ryan jumping up and down on my bed. I cringe for a few seconds and just start laughing. “Really?” 

“Have you even tried this before?” he says, still jumping up and down, his brown hair falling into his face. 

I smile and then join him, realizing that, hey, maybe he is right. We both start laughing manically, shoving each other into the wall and nearly falling off the bed every two seconds. Ryan slams me against the window, letting out a victorious snort of a laugh. I push him back, almost falling to the ground. Ryan grabs me at the last second but only shoves me back into the wall. 

“Ryan, you’re such a fu–” I stop myself, realizing that my brother Devon is standing at the doorway with a skeptical look. I stop jumping and Ryan settles next to me. “Hey, Devon.” 

“Um, dinner’s ready.” he says, obviously unimpressed by my childish ways. He leaves quickly and Ryan pushes me one last time and jumps off the bed. 

I smile, only a little embarrassed, and show Ryan the way to the kitchen. When we get there, my sisters and brother have found their way into seats. My dad is talking to them about college and jobs and things I don’t care about. He doesn’t acknowledge us and I’m kind of happy about that. He might be angry about me forgetting about my siblings coming over or my mom might have told him about my haircut. Either way, Ryan and I find our places at the table and I tell everyone Ryan’s name. 

My mom brings over the pots and pans of food and then we do a quick prayer in which Ryan kicks me under the table and squeezes my hand so hard that I nearly cry out. If it was another occasion, I might have been embarrassed by the strange looks my family is giving us, but I feel like I’m high or something when I’m with Ryan. He makes everything seem better and less stressful. Maybe I’m crazy and this is all just the side effects of not taking my ADHD pills. 

“Did you cut your hair, Brendon?” Amanda asks, scooping out some mashed potatoes. 

I think I blush a little. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Oh.” she says with a small smile. “I like it.” 

“I don’t know, it’s kind of strange.” Devon says, eyeing me with a strong look of distaste. 

“Yeah, it’s, like, uneven.” Mia comments. 

It gets silent, me picking at the chicken breast on my plate. It kind of annoys me and suddenly I’m really let down that my family can’t just shut up about my hair. It grows back. Still, though, apparently nothing I like is acceptable for my family.

“I like it.” Ryan says suddenly. 

I smile down at my food, not meeting his eyes. “Thanks.” 

“Brendon, you’re a hairdresser, shouldn’t you be good at that kind of stuff?” Devon asks me with questioning eyes. 

“Wait, you actually cut hair, Brendon? I thought you were joking.” Ryan asks, looking like he’s holding back a string of giggles. I nod. “Wow, no wonder you’re gay.” 

The table goes completely silent and I kind of just stare at Ryan with this exasperated face. Everyone looks utterly confused at me, obviously waiting for me to speak up. I feel like throwing up. This is not how this was supposed to happen. Unfortunately, the only word that I can think is: fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“What?” Ryan asks, obviously not catching on. 

“He’s joking, right?” my dad finally speaks up, him being silent the rest of the dinner. 

I sit frozen in my seat. “Well, like–” I can’t bring myself to lie to my parents about this. It seems so awful to say that Ryan was joking around because I really am gay and I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not. 

“You’re gay?” Mia asks incredulously. 

“Shit, Brendon,” Ryan finally figures out what is going on. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” 

I suddenly feel like crying, my eyes feeling watery. I fiddle with my fork, looking up to my mother who is quiet when I would think she’d have something to say. I just find her staring back at me like I’m some stranger that just ran over her dog or something. I instantly stand up and run to my room.

I don’t have a lock on my door, so I close it gently and then sit down against it. I feel more tears spring to my eyes because this really wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I had plans. I was just going to tell them after I moved out. I’d let them judge me without me still living with them. Now, though, I’m scared. I really do try not to cry because it seems so silly and childish, but when I start thinking of how my mom looked at me, it just happens. I try to keep quiet, not wanting to let them think I really am bawling my eyes out. 

“Bren,” I hear Ryan say, knocking lightly on my bedroom door. He fiddles with the door knob but I won’t let him in. “Come on, let me in.”

I know that he just wants into my room, but for some reason I don’t think about it like that. If I opened my door, I’d be letting him in. Into my fucking weird life and the way my brain works and just me. I really don’t want to. I’m content with keeping my thoughts and worries to myself. I don’t need someone else with a biased outlook. 

“No. Go away.” I say, my voice letting away the fact that I’m crying. 

“Fuck.” Ryan huffs quietly, maybe realizing that I’m essentially dying. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think–” 

“Please leave.” I tell him. 

“Will you just listen? I’m really sorr–” 

“Leave!” I sob, my hands tightening into fists. 

I hear him sigh and walk away from my door. I sniffle a little and just wait for my parents to come and yell at me. I’m sure they’ll let me know exactly what they think of all of this. I can’t help but to think they should have seen it coming. I’ve literally never had a girlfriend or talked about girls for that matter. I’m frustrated at Ryan because this was mine to tell them. I would have never told them at a lunch date with my whole family. Part of me is still kind of relieved I never had to actually break the news to them. 

A little while after the house seems to have settled down, I’m still sitting on the ground. My eyelashes are wet and I can feel them whenever I blink. I sigh and pull at my hair. I know the responsible thing would be to go find my parents and explain things to them but I’m completely scared to talk to them. 

I jump a little when someone knocks on my door. “Brenny,” my sister Amanda says in a soft voice. “Can I come in?” 

I slowly move away from the door, not being able to open my mouth. She waits in the hallway a little, probably waiting for me to grant her access to my room. She opens the door and peeks her head in, finding my most likely sad eyes. She lets out a sad sigh and then sits down next to me, shutting the door. 

“Hey.” she says, poking me slightly. I only look down at my hands in my lap. “It’s okay, Bren. They’re not going to murder you or something.” 

“I didn’t want you guys to find out like that.” I mumble, my voice sounding rough. 

“I’m sorry.” she wraps her arm around me, and I snuggle into her neck. “Can I ask how long you’ve been hiding that from us?” 

I feel this stinging in my chest and I only burrow further into her neck. “I’ve always known.” I tell her vaguely. In other words, I’ve been hiding this from my family since forever. I’ve never looked at a girl the way I look at guys.

“Brendon.” she says slowly, sounding pained. “That’s so long, baby. Why didn’t you just…?” 

“Did you see the way Mom looked at me?” I ask, feeling more tears prick at my eyes. “I can’t even deal with this, let alone my younger self. I was going to…” I sniffle, wiping these useless tears from my eyes. “I was going to tell everyone at some point but after I left the house.” 

“Is Ryan your boyfriend?” she asks me in a cautious voice. 

“No. He’s just a friend.” I say maybe just a little bitter. 

“He seems like a good friend. He gave Mom and Dad a lecture, you know? Before he left. Talked about how you’re a good kid and you don’t deserve to be yelled at for something like being gay. I agree him with.” 

“He said that?” I ask, looking up at her. 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t be angry at him if I was you.” she says, petting my hair timidly. I lean into it, missing her. 

“I wish you still lived here.” I mutter, completely despising her husband and cosy life two hours away from this house. 

“I’ll come back whenever you want me to, okay?” 

***

When my parents finally decide it’s time to talk to me, they wake me up at six in the morning on Sunday. I’m surprised when my dad bangs on my door and tells me to come to the kitchen table. I blink a few times, trying to figure out why my dad is waking me up this early without explanation. Then it all hits me. Fuck. 

I get up and realize that I fell asleep in the same clothes I was in yesterday. I don’t bother changing, just rub my eyes and find my way to the kitchen. I try to put on a strong face, but I’m scared. I think my parents know by the way they look at me like I’ll break any second. I wonder if Amanda said anything to them before she left. Apparently Ryan did. 

I sit down at the table, my parents on either side. None of us say anything, obviously not knowing how to even start this conversation. My mom still looks torn up, still giving me doe eyes that scream confusion. I start picking at the calluses on my fingers from playing guitar, waiting for someone to just say something. My dad clears his throat. 

“Brendon…” he sighs, as if he’s not even sure how to continue. Good start. “How long?” 

“I’ve always known I was gay.” I tell them, trying to keep my voice even. It seems like it was easier to tell Amanda that. Now it’s terrifying because my parents look a lot more judgmental. 

“And you never felt the need to tell us?!” my mom shouts at me. 

I feel my fingers curl involuntarily. She’s trying to blame me for this mess, I can already tell. “It’s not exactly the simplest thing to mention to a bunch of avid church goers who essentially believe that homosexuality is a sin that their son is gay.” I mutter, it having more attitude than I intend. 

My mom looks shocked at how blunt I am about the situation. “It would have been nice to be told by you instead of your boyfriend.” 

“Ryan’s not my boyfriend.” I say quickly because I really wish people would stop assuming that. 

There’s a long pause where my mom’s face drains of color. “What...is he, then?” 

“No! Ryan’s a friend, my God. I can be gay and have friends that are guys.” I clear up, making sure my mom does not think Ryan is my friend with benefits or something along those lines. 

“I just don’t know what I did wrong…” my mom whispers. 

“Stop making this sound like it’s a bad thing!” I snarl. “This doesn’t even concern you!” 

“Yes, it does. I won’t ever have grandchildren, I...I.” 

“Well, suck it up, okay? You won’t ever have to be so confused about everything because you literally have no one you can talk to about it. You’re not the one that gets made fun of for not liking the gender you’re supposed to. You’ll never have to listen to people tell you what you feel is wrong even if it’s the only thing that feels right. So, you know what? I honestly don’t care what you think.” 

I flicker my eyes over my parents’ faces, feeling nervous but confident in my words. My dad looks ashamed of my mom and my mom just looks surprised. It’s not exactly the preferred reaction but I’m not even sure what I was expecting. 

“You get made fun of?” my mom asks me in a timid voice. 

I feel my face get hot and I look down. “Just some kids from school.” I murmur. 

The bullying has kind of slowed down recently, but I always get sly remarks for my sexuality. When I was a freshman I mentioned it to a girl who wanted to go to homecoming with me and then she told the whole school. After that, kids just liked to attack me. I couldn’t really complain because it wasn’t anything too physical and I never got seriously injured. But by the way my mom is looking at me, I wonder if maybe she’s feeling bad. Maybe she won’t be angry at me for the rest of my life. 

“You never mentioned being bullied.” my mom says, this sadness bordering her words. 

“You never asked.” I shrug. 

“What else have you ‘forgotten’ to tell us?” my mom asks. 

“I didn’t forget to tell you I’m gay, alright? I wouldn’t just keep that to myself if I had a choice.” I say, already angry again. 

“We were never forcing you not to tell us!” my mom shouts at me. 

I grip the table harshly, about ready to kick something. “I don’t give a fuck about your religion!” I tell them. “I guess I forgot to tell you that, too.” 

“Brendon?” my dad whispers and I realize he’s even still here. He looks extremely offended and I honestly get scared he’s about to hit me or something. “Are you just saying that to make her angry or do you mean it?” 

“I haven’t believed in a long time, Dad.” I confess. 

He looks at me with these sunken eyes. “Then why do you even go?” 

“Well, it wasn’t like I was going to tell you.” I shrug. “I mean, you’re still going to make me go even now.” 

“I don’t understand how you can just hide these things from us.” my mom says, her eyes getting glassy. Why do I keep making her cry? 

“Haven’t I already explained that?” 

My mom lets a few tears slip from her eyes and then she just completely lets go, rushing out the room. I hear her door slam shut and I feel bad. I try not to blame myself but I still feel the guilt when my dad gives me an exasperated look. I slump in my chair and put my head down on the table. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” I whisper. “I didn’t think this would become some big deal. I wasn’t going to tell you guys about this until I left the house. I didn’t think Ryan would, you know, tell everyone. I never told him that I was hiding it so… I guess he just assumed.” 

“Right?” my dad laughs a little, a definite edge of bitterness to it. “We should have known.” 

I close my eyes and I let beautiful blackness take over my vision. I try to pretend that I’m someplace else and my dad is not addressing me. I’m some stranger that found his way into this house and into my body. I’m helplessly confused because none of this makes sense. When I open my eyes again, it’s all gone. 

“You’re not going to church.” my dad says, standing up from the table, his chair making a scratching noise. “Unless you’ve had some epiphany in the last few minutes and you’ve found God again?” 

I look up, trying to find out if he’s serious. He’s offering me this small smile. “Not yet, sorry.” I say softly. 

“Worth a shot.” he says. I return the smile but still feel slightly guilty for my mother. I involuntarily look towards my parents’ room. “Hey, you know how your mother is. She’ll get over it.” 

“I hope.” 

“Don’t burn the house down while we’re at church.” 

***

“You’re a jackass.” I deadpan Ryan. “But thanks for yelling at my parents.” 

Ryan smirks, moving over a little. “You gonna come in?” 

“You gonna tell my parents about that, too?” I retort, going into Ryan’s house. 

“Shouldn’t you be at church or something?” 

“My parents know I don’t care about that stuff anymore.” 

“Holy shit! Really? You told them? How?” Ryan fires off. I just roll my eyes and lean against the now closed door, shrugging. “That’s good. This is good news. You know what that calls for?” 

“Sad music and a ton of ice cream?” 

“God, you’re twelve.” Ryan scoffs, rushing away from me. 

I follow him into his house, shutting the door quietly. He leads me to a kitchen area and gets on his knees to get to a low cabinet. I watch curiously as he pulls out two bottles of a clear liquid. He looks up at me, smiling deviously and shaking the bottle for emphasis. I try not to do that thing where I awkwardly look away because I’m much too embarrassed to admit something, but I think I do. 

“Have you never….?” Ryan asks, still smiling but not laughing. 

“You know, I could lie and say I have but I think it’s already way too obvious.” I say to him. 

He just snickers. “Do you want to or do you actually have an opposition to this because, like, concerts and porn can’t really do anything bad to you, but I guess alcohol can?” 

I look at the bottles that are in Ryan’s grip, him still situated on the floor and the cabinet door still open. I could easily say no and maybe my parents would acknowledge they didn’t raise a complete fuck-up. Then, I realize that Ryan and I aren’t going anywhere and I feel like shit. No one is here to get us in trouble. The only thing standing between us and a good night is myself. 

“My mom’s a fucking bitch.” is all I say. 

Ryan closes the cabinet and stands without any further words exchanged. Instead he just laughs cynically and says, “I’ve completely ruined you, Brendon. You know, I hope the devil brings this up when we have a chat because I better get brownie points for this.” 

I roll my eyes and let out a small laugh. I’m okay. My parents might completely hate me but I have Ryan and a bottle of…something. And my parents might be warning the entire church about my dreaded fight with homosexuality and then they might call up all my relatives and tell them too, but I have this. 

I think all “this” is just ignorance. 

“No, but seriously, do you think the devil will be proud of me?” Ryan asks with wide eyes. 

“You gotta try a little harder than that, Ross.” 

***

Ryan does try harder. Actually, he tried so hard that I’m dancing around the room, my shirt misplaced, to a Lady Gaga song. Ryan watches from the side, laughing loudly and turning up and down the volume of the music and pretending to be a DJ. Ryan turns down the music when The Backstreet Boys starts playing and he flops down on the couch. I rush over and practically jump on him. 

“God no–Brendon! You’re sweaty!” he whines, pushing me over. 

I fall to the ground in a fit of laugher. “You probably like my sweat.” I say, swiping my hand on my forehead, collecting an ample amount of sweat, and then spreading it all over Ryan’s arm. 

“What the fuck? Bren!” he squeals as he rolls over to the side of the couch. 

I merely giggle, pulling at the carpet of Ryan’s living room floor. I lose interest quickly. “Ry, Ryan, George! Ryan!” I yell out, getting back on the couch and squeezing next to him. 

“I should have never told you that was my first name.” he mumbles, his breath feeling unnaturally warm on my face. “And, I probably should have never given you vodka. It’s like you get younger the more you drink. How old are you, Brendon?” 

“Old? I’m young….George! Curious George! Hah!” I yell at his face. 

He looks unimpressed as he covers my mouth with his palm. “Bren, you need to stop with that because it’s–” Ryan lets out a howl of pain, taking his hand off from my mouth. “Why did you bite me?” 

“You looked like you wanted to be bit.” I tell him. “You know, I bet you’d get off on weird shit like that, being bitten and stuff.” 

Ryan’s face scrunches up and it kind of reminds me of a pug dog or something. “I’m not some masochist.” he explains. “I’m actually impressed you didn’t blush when you said that. I think it’s the alcohol.” 

“Hey, I’m mature.” I say slowly to make sure he knows. “I can talk about sex.” 

Ryan just starts laughing again and I can feel his body shaking the couch. “You?” he chokes out in between fits of laughter. 

“You know, probably not. Ryan…” I whisper very seriously. “What if I die a virgin? Oh my god. Ryan, can you make sure if that happens they’ll put that on my tombstone.” 

“You want your tombstone to say that you died a virgin?” Ryan double checks. 

I think about this for a moment. “Yes, and maybe something about how at least I did my taxes on time.” 

“How do you know you’ll do your taxes on time?” 

I shrug and roll over so I’m lying on my stomach but still facing Ryan. I close my eyes briefly and wonder if I will actually die a virgin. That would really suck. Like, really bad. Maybe I’ll just hire some prostitute to fuck me. That sounds nice. Kind of. “Now I’m horny.” I whine to Ryan. 

“Calm down, Brendon.” Ryan says evenly. 

I rut up and down on the couch, causing friction on my crotch. “I’m serious.” I claim, my eyes fluttering closed. “Can we watch more porn or something?” 

Ryan just laughs at me again. “If I remember correctly, you didn’t even want to do that in the first place.” 

“I know...but, like–God.” I breathe out, as I keep awkwardly moving up and down on the couch. 

“I don’t think God is the person you want to be contacting right now.” Ryan snorts at me. 

I open my eyes and stop moving. Ryan is staring at me with dark eyes. He looks kind of confused, actually. I quickly smash my lips into his and try not to look back on it. Ryan tastes like alcohol and his lips feel nice against mine. I don’t really remember much from when Ryan and I first kissed, but this is really great compared to that memory. I can still smell the tobacco on him but this time it just reminds me of him or his car or his room. My memory still has to remember the fact that Ryan’s not gay and he’s after a girl. 

I break apart from the kiss, not really wanting to. “You’re not gay.” I say bluntly. 

“I’m not gay, no.” Ryan says, and I honestly feel really bad for myself at this moment. “But, I just, I think I’m bi, you know?” 

“No.” I say, but still feel kind of giddy because bi is a lot better than straight in my ears. “I’ve always been gay. I don’t get that.” 

He rolls his eyes at me. “You don’t get the point.” 

“Pencils have points.” I declare, putting a finger on the tip of his nose. 

Ryan looks mildly confused but I don’t get to bask in the unfamiliar face because he starts kissing me. I go with it because it’s Ryan, but I honestly don’t understand. A few seconds ago he was saying he was only bi and not gay. And bi guys, well, they–

“Oh my gosh, Ryan, are you gonna fuck me?” I break the kiss to ask. 

Ryan looks really tempted to say yes. He looks like he knows the word is on the tip of his tongue but he decides not to. “Brendon...no. It’s not that I don’t wanna it’s just,” Ryan looks away like he’s ashamed about what he’s going to say next. “I don’t want to ruin your first time.” 

I groan in half pleasure from my hand that has found its way to my crotch and half from Ryan being benevolent. “I don’t care about that.” I whine to him. 

“You’re drunk.” he tells me in a small voice. “You won’t want this when you’re not drunk.” 

“No, Ryan, I’m not...drunk.” I explain because if I was drunk I would be so fucked. My parents would somehow find out and hate me even more. Then I will get in the car and get in some fatal car crash, and no I can’t be drunk. 

Ryan ignores me and pulls me in for a kiss, his hand landing awkwardly on my shoulder. Without breaking the kiss, I move my body so I’m lying on top of him. He doesn’t seem to mind my weight, instead he rolls his hips into mine, and, fuck, this is a whole lot better than the friction from the couch. I’m already hard, and it’s obvious that Ryan is too. We helplessly rut against each other with his tongue in my mouth and our hands all over. His skin is warm below my fingertips and I glide my hands over his exposed stomach. I slip my hand further into his shirt and experimentally rub at his nipples. 

“Bren…” he leans back, breaking the kiss and just lets out these ragged breaths. “We really shouldn’t do this.” 

“There’s other things to do besides fucking, Ryan.” I enlighten him, my words feeling heavier than usual and it’s harder for me to say them. 

Ryan mulls this over for a few seconds but I get tired of waiting so I lower my hand and palm him through his jeans. “Fine!” he declares, pushing into my hand. 

I only smirk and keep taunting Ryan. It’s funny to have him so desperate for something that I can give him. It’s usually the other way around. This is a pleasant turn around, actually. I start to unbuckle his belt, Ryan letting out a whimper of disapproval that I completely disregard. I go teasingly slow, pulling the belt out and throwing it to the floor, and then I work on his button. 

“Brendon, you’re so fucking–” Ryan slurs, apparently annoyed. He slaps my hand away and opens his jeans quickly. “Get offa me so I can get these off.” 

“I don’t know, it’s fun watching you squirm.” I laugh at him. 

Ryan stops struggling a little as if he just realized that he was moving. “I want shy Brendon back.” he pouts. 

I laugh in an evil bravado, rolling back over onto the couch, leaving Ryan to quickly take off his shirt and pants. I get preoccupied with taking my own shirt off, my stupid arm not cooperating with me. I get in a fight with my shirt, about ready to just rip it off, when Ryan effortlessly plucks it off of me. This is when I get only kind of nervous because Ryan just completely bypassed keeping his boxers on and now he’s just naked. Then it hits me: I have a naked boy in front of me. 

This, right here, is easily the highlight of my life. 

I pull Ryan in for a deep, long kiss and my hands find his mucked up hair. I ruin it more, my fingers slipping through the slightly tangled strands. Ryan still moves away from my eager lips. 

“As much as I like kissing you, I think you should really touch me now that I have my pants off.” Ryan suggests bluntly. 

I only shake my head, feeling a little dizzy, and reach towards his dick. A little part of me freaks out because I’ve never done this before. I hate that feeling of naivety that worms its way into my thoughts. I ignore it all and realize that I’ve jerked myself off way too many times to count so in a way this isn’t that new. When I finally start moving my hand, Ryan’s face turns into something similar to when we were watching porn. 

“Fucking yes,” Ryan breathes, his hands already roaming my body. 

I awkwardly jerk him off, my wrist starting to ache from the angle. I start sucking on the skin of his neck to occupy myself more. Ryan doesn’t seem to mind and just rolls his head back. I can feel my own hard-on pressing against the fabric of my skinny jeans and it’s only reminding me how much I really am enjoying myself. Ryan starts to get more fidgety when I nibble on the skin on the side of his jaw. I can feel the rough scratch of his facial hair, it only making me groan into his skin. 

“Brendon...so close.” he says, his voice breaking a little. 

I get more frantic with my hands, every once in a while sweeping over his slit. He bucks up to get more pressure and starts slurring curse words. I watch as his eyes flutter closed and his mouth slightly parts, filling the room with a loud moan. One of his free hands finds his hair and I can tell he’s pulling the strands. His come is warm on my stomach and it kind of surprises me. He rides out his orgasm and partway through I move down the couch and lick up the come that’s accumulated on the head of his cock. It’s an unfamiliar taste that I don’t mind now, feeling way too heated and flustered to deny the taste. Ryan enjoys for a few seconds but then makes a pained noise and moves away from me. 

“Too soon, Brendon.” he whines. 

“Sorry.” I mutter, a little embarrassed of my naivety. 

“No, no, seriously you’re great.” he says, pulling me up towards him and starts kissing me deeply. 

I go with it, my hand finding his hip. I feel his fingers prying at my belt, trying to get it undone with apparent miscalculated coordination. I help him out, my fingers not working with me either. I whine into the kiss, suddenly very frustrated because apparently I’m never going to get to second base. Thankfully, Ryan saves the day and takes off my belt properly and unbuttons my pants. I push down my tight jeans, sort of wishing that I wore loose jeans. Once they’re out of the way, Ryan puts his hands in my briefs and the contact of his hand on my dick is completely new and–

“Holy fucking shit,” I sigh out. 

I see him smirk a little before I close my eyes, only really caring about the pace Ryan has gotten going. I suddenly bring my hands down to pull away my briefs because at this point, they are completely irrelevant. Ryan just ignores me and keeps jerking me off, groaning a little. 

“God, Brendon, you’re really hot like this.” he tells me, his breathing getting shuddery again.

“Yeah,” I barely utter because I’m really close.

I tighten my grip on Ryan’s waist and feel myself become undone. A warmth spreads through my body and then pleasure takes its place. I let out an undeniably embarrassing noise, my head lolling back onto the couch. Ryan speeds up a little and I let my blunt nails press into the skin of Ryan’s waist. When I finally recover, my come decorating both of our stomachs, I open my eyes and look at Ryan. 

“Don’t look so smug.” I tell him. 

“I wasn’t,” he smiles at me some more. “You’re just really cute when you come.” 

“Romantic.” 

*** 

I strum my guitar faster, my fingers starting to sting from excessive playing. I’m really close to putting together a song. I’m just trying to figure out this chord progression but I keep doing it wrong. I accidently drop my pick into the hole of my acoustic and let out a frustrated groan, flipping the instrument over. I shake it viciously, hearing the hopeful clank of the pick hitting the wood. 

“Brendon…” my mother says from my doorway. She’s watching me suspiciously, hand on her hip. “The dishes need to be done.” 

I purse my lips and set down my guitar, realizing that I may never finish this song. I follow my mom towards the kitchen, distancing myself. She’s still a little upset about me being gay and dismissing my religion. It doesn’t help that I never called and told my parents I was staying at Ryan’s house. When I arrived in the morning, a headache and clumsy feet, my parents decided to give me a lecture about how I was still living with them, blah, blah, blah. I spaced out during the majority of it, thinking about Ryan. 

It’s been sufficiently awkward. I’m angry at him. It feels like he completely took advantage of me when he knew I’ve never drunk before. I guess it was partly my fault because I was...willing. Still, Ryan should have just locked me in the bathroom or something. It’s not that I totally regret it, either. I’m still in complete shock Ryan actually returned the favor. 

“Dry them off before you put them away.” my mom says, taking me out of my reveries. 

“I know.” I mumble, pulling out a dry washcloth. 

I slowly put the dishes away, my mind in other places. I feel my mom’s eyes on me from across the room. She’s sitting at the table, pretending to be reading some magazine she’s subscribed to. I can tell she’s just analyzing me, probably trying to figure out just what went wrong. When I’m about to go back to my room, my mom speaks up. 

“I’m sorry, Bren.” she says so quietly that I think I imagined it. I turn around and see her eyes on my form again. “It was just really surprising and all at once. I felt like I didn’t know you at all and I’m your mom. I don’t care about who you like, okay?” 

I nod a little, feeling my cheeks get warm because prior to a couple days ago, she never knew about this stuff. “I should have told you sooner.” 

She looks down to the ground and I watch as her grip on her coffee mug visibly tightens. “You should have told us when you were ready.” she says to the floor but still manages to look up at me with some twisted pity in her eyes. “Are you bullied about being gay?” 

I can feel myself blush again because I hate feeling weak. I honestly don’t get bullied that much. Plus, I get used to it. Kids just think it’s weird that I’m gay and they love to find someone who’s weird that they can make fun of in large groups. It’s not really their verbal attacks that bother me, it’s more their arrogance. They just start assuming things about gay guys, like how I pretty much have to get changed in a stall when I go to gym class or everyone assumes I’m checking them out. It’s small things like that that I’ve just learned to deal with. 

“Not really anymore.” I shrug and it’s my turn to stare at the floor. 

My mom stands up, her mug still in her left hand. She walks up to me and cards through my unkempt hair. She looks apologetic as she lets out a sad sigh. “I overreacted.” she whispers to me. 

“It’s okay.” I say, not wanting this to turn into an argument. My mom rarely apologizes so it only makes sense to accept her apologies.

She bites her lip and moves her hand away from my hair. There’s suddenly a knock on the door and I’m quick to break away from my mom to answer it. It’s not a shock to find Ryan behind my door. He’s wearing a large hoodie, his cheeks red like he’s been waiting outside my door and got cold. I stand awkwardly, waiting for him to say something to me. 

“Can I come in?” he asks politely, which is slightly off character for Ryan. 

“I guess.” I say, backing up and letting him stand in the foyer. 

“You know, I don’t think I did anything wrong.” he says, slumping against the door with his arms crossed. “It’s not my fault you were–” 

“Let’s talk about this in my room.” I say quickly, knowing that my mom is listening. 

Ryan nods and we venture towards my room. I nervously close my door, hoping that my mom doesn’t impose some ridiculous rule about how I can’t close my door when boys are over. Even if she doesn’t say anything, I’m pretty certain she thinks Ryan and I are doing something inappropriate. I sit down in the chair by my desk and watch as Ryan perches on the foot of my bed. 

“I don’t think you should be that angry at me, okay? You were the one fucking humping the couch and asking me to fuck you, which I said no to because I knew you’d regret it.” 

I try to ignore how obviously desperate I am. “I’m not that angry at you.” I tell him slowly. 

“You’re not?” 

“I mean, I was kind of…” 

“Desperate as fuck.” Ryan fills in for me. I give him an annoyed look that he only laughs at. “I mean, like, you’re probably just a horny drunk. A lot of people are.” 

I hide my face in my hands, blushing for the umpteenth time today. “God, please stop, Ryan.” 

“Aw, no, man. I am going to make fun of you for that night for so long. Like,” he starts laughing manically, obviously having trouble going forward. He does, to my terror. “You wanted to watch porn!” 

“Ryan! My mom is in the room!” I freak out, laughing a little because, wow, I am desperate. 

Ryan just bites his lip, still smiling that smug smile of his. I roll my eyes and look to my hands. I think it might be some futile attempt to stop myself from gushing at Ryan’s blatant amusement. 

I clear my throat. “So, um, do you want me to get my dad’s acoustic so we can play together?” 

Ryan just smiles some more, nodding this time.

***

Jon is sitting cross legged on the ground, a bass in his lap. His fingers are stretched over the fifth, sixth and eighth fret, just playing some random riffs. I go back to shuffling through the songs I have started. Suddenly, they all suck. I really just want to pull one out by random, but I feel like Jon will just make fun of every single one. I read through another set of lyrics and feel ridiculous. They make me sound like I’m twelve or something. 

“God, Brendon, hurry the fuck up. I wanna hear you guys play something.” Ryan says from the couch, ever so sweetly as usual. 

Ryan wanted to come hear us play. I was a little anxious about him coming over to Spencer’s for two reasons. Spencer knows and likes to taunt me about my growing crush on Ryan so I’m worried he’s going to drop really unsubtle hints his way. I’m also worried Ryan is going to hate our music and think I’m an awful musician and songwriter. 

I frown at him and then turn around to Spencer and Jon who don’t appear as impatient as Ryan. “How about we just cover something?” 

“Blink-182!” Ryan yells out, raising his Cheez-It box like it’s a beer or something.

“Do you know any Blink songs, Jon?” I ask only him because I know Spencer knows their entire anthology. 

“Um, a few. Always?” Jon offers one of their most popular songs. 

I feel relieved because I actually know this song really well. “Yeah, let’s just play that and hope it sounds okay.”

“Wait!” Ryan yells out, standing up abruptly. “You should let me play the second guitar. You know, the one that comes in at the pre-chorus?” 

I just stare at him nervously. “I...guess. You can use my other guitar.” I give in because it will probably make the song sound more full and better.

Ryan smiles, putting down the box of Cheez-Its and sucking his fingers clean with his mouth. I mentally cringe at how he really should be washing his hands before using my guitar, but I kind of get distracted watching him clean his fingers off. I look away awkwardly. 

When Ryan is positioned behind my guitar and after he’s rolled his shoulders thoroughly he tells us to commence. Spencer hits his drumsticks together four times, signaling us to play. We all go through the song with no major implications. Ryan and I play the same part on accident at parts but we learn to figure out who plays what. At one of the choruses I even look Ryan's way, goofily smiling as I sing at the top of my lungs. “Come on, let me hold you, touch you, feel you, always!” 

Ryan just rolls his eyes, smiles, and looks down to his guitar. 

“We could totally be a band.” Jon says once we’re done, an accomplished look on his face. 

“Holy shit, Brendon, I know I’ve told you this before, but seriously, you can sing.” Ryan tells me. I’m pretty sure I get all red. “Seriously, though, we should be a band. If Brendon isn’t willing to cough up songs, then I will.” 

“You write?” I ask, kind of ignoring his comment about my singing. 

“Just lyrics. I think we could easily make melodies, though.” 

“Do you think that would even work? Me singing your lyrics? Like, is that weird?” I ask more to myself but Ryan still shrugs. 

“We might as well try.” 

I look down at the guitar that’s hanging off my body and slide my fingers up the frets. I look up, a smile on my lips made just for Ryan. “Okay, yeah, let’s do that.” 

***

Ryan smiles at me from behind my door, but it’s not like usual. He shows up at my house all the time on random occasions, but this smile isn't the same quirky, sarcastic Ryan. I stare at him and bite the side of my mouth trying to think of something I can say that won’t sound like I’m prying too much into his life. I don’t come up with anything.

“Can I stay the night?” he asks, leaning up against my door. 

I nod, not even bothering asking my mom because I’m an adult and I want Ryan to stay. He almost looks as if he needs to stay over with me. I have a feeling his easy demeanor is just him trying to hold back other feelings and his not-so subtle invitation is him trying to say he’ll explain later. He closes the door and follows me to my bedroom. He doesn’t appear to have a backpack or any belongings with him. He plops down on my bed instead of doing his usual jumping jacks on my mattress. This is when I know something is really wrong. 

“What’s wrong?” I cut to the chase. 

“That obvious, huh?” he says, looking down to his fingers. 

“Is– was it that girl?” 

Ryan gives me a cynical smile and I feel like I might be right. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Kind of.” he answers all at once, which does nothing for me. 

I sit down at my desk and my eyes never leave his form. He slumps forward, his elbows finding his thighs. I clear my throat but realize I don’t even know what I want to say. If I’m good at anything, though, it’s finding distractions from real life. “Hang on.” I mutter, leaving Ryan alone. 

I fumble through my house, finding my ukulele on the kitchen table. I tell my mom Ryan is over and before she can even get angry at me for not telling her, I leave. I rush into my room and sit next to Ryan, crossing my legs. He looks at me questionably, but I just smile sweetly and put my fingers on the frets. My body hunches over the little instrument, it nudging against my stomach. I lick my lips and start playing, my voice low and quiet. I don’t expect him to know the song because I was the one that wrote it, but he still bites his lip and smiles at me. I take this is a praise and play stronger, my thumb grazing the strings a little harder and my voice rising. 

“You should teach me how to play.” Ryan interrupts. 

I stop singing, but keep strumming. “It’s not that different from guitar. It’s just two less strings and few less frets.” 

“Then it shouldn’t be that hard to teach me.” he says, wrapping his fingers around the bottom of the neck, muting all of them and making my final strum sound dead. I nod slowly and he takes the ukulele from my grip. “Where should I put my fingers?” 

I kind of just stare at his face and forget what song I was going to have him play. He looks so fragile all of a sudden in my eyes. One glimpse at his petite figure could give you that impression, but just his face looks frail. I don’t think it’s just because of his damp disposition today that gives me the idea, but it really does accentuate it. I bite my lip and look down to his fingers that are awaiting my command, his tiny wrist resting on the wood of the ukulele. 

“Brendon, please stop thinking of dirty things I could do with my fingers and just tell me what to do.” Ryan sighs, shaking his head disapprovingly. 

I instantly blush and shake my head. “No, no, I swear, that wasn't what I was thinking about.” I assure him. 

He raises an amused eyebrow at me. “You sure? You’re blushing in that ‘he just said something sexual’ manner that you do.” 

“I was just,” I mumble, feeling silly. “You just look really fragile and...I don’t know.” 

“Fragile?” he repeats, a grin finding its way on his face. “Am I like glass or something? Am I gonna break, Brendon?” 

“That’s not what I meant–” I stop talking, looking down at the ukulele. Ryan’s playing a song, his fingers moving over the fret board with practiced precision. “I thought you didn’t know how to play.” 

“How could I not know how to play ukulele? It’s, like, the simplest instrument ever.” he scoffs, raising his arms and putting the sound hole right next to my ear. “Sound good, don’t I? Do I still sound fragile?” 

“Shut up.” I moan. “I was just making an observation.” 

He nods and lowers his arms so the instrument is resting on his thighs again. He stops playing though. “That girl, the one I kept telling you about, she started dating her best friend.” he tells me. “I’ve met the guy, he’s really nice and everything, but she never made it sound like they’d be a thing. Maybe I should have known.” 

“That sucks.” I say basically the only thing I ever say in these kinds of situations where I have to give condolences that I don’t think I have. 

“You wanna know something?” he asks. I just nod. “I’m worried because I don’t really care about her anymore. I swear, a month ago I would be so disappointed about this all. Just now, I don’t really care.” 

I look around the room awkwardly. “Uh, why?” 

He doesn't make eye contact with me. “I dunno. It’s just really weird.” he shrugs. 

“Weird, okay.” I mumble. 

Ryan stretches out on my bed, letting go of the ukulele and finding my pillow. He burrows his face into it and lets out an audible sigh. I place the ukulele on the ground and lay down next to Ryan, making sure we don’t touch but being close enough to where he knows I’m there. I poke his arm slightly. 

“Bren,” he starts, moving slightly so that his face is still covered by the pillow but his mouth is moveable. “How did you know you were gay?” 

I suddenly freeze up, wishing that I could see his face right now. I can tell by his voice he isn’t joking about it, but I can’t tell if it’s inner turmoil or just blatant curiosity. I have a feeling it isn't the latter of the two. “Um, well, I just didn’t think about myself in a relationship with girls. I never really thought that girls were interesting, I guess.” 

Ryan just stays silent, his breathing kind of harsh. I wonder if I should make him move his face so he doesn’t choke or something but he starts speaking before I begin any actions. “You know I’m bi and stuff, it’s just, I don’t really have it all figured out. I guess for a while I only really wanted to just do stuff with guys and not actually have a relationship with them. It’s just recently...I’ve been confused.” 

Ryan doesn't usually open up to me. Every once in a while we’re texting and he’ll disclose to me something about his life that I know is personal, but he’s never very upfront about it. It’s like when he’s admitting something, he’s going out on an unfamiliar limb. I think he finally trusts me to some degree and that makes me happy. Happier than I should probably be. 

“I used to be really confused.” I tell him. “And it kind of sucked because I really didn’t have anyone to talk to about it because no one knew. It’s kind of hard to trust people with that, too. You never know how they’ll react. So, just, if you wanna talk, talk to me. I obviously wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

Ryan slowly rolls over and exposes his face. He still looks fragile, but I won’t tell him that. “Thanks.” he says slowly. “I don’t really wanna talk about it anymore, though.” 

“Okay, do you wanna watch a movie, then?” 

He nods and I go find a DVD to put in the player. He stays silent until he lets out yet another sigh and moves up on the bed so he’s facing the TV. I give him a bright smile and sit down next to him. All I really want to do, before the movie starts and my opportunity is gone, is to tell him how much I really do like him. I’m just worried that I’ll confuse him even more. I doubt that’s the last thing he wants right now. So instead, I let the DVD play and I keep my mouth closed. 

***

“I don’t wanna kiss or hold your hand, if it’s funny try to understand,” Ryan sings out, playing the acoustic guitar viciously, the string ringing out uncomfortably. “There is really nothing else I’d rather do because I’m happy just to dance with you!”

I watch him with an awkward smile on my face that I am sure is oozing fondness. Ryan keeps playing the same song over and over again and something about it is relaxing. No one is in the streets, let alone the store. There’s an occasional crackling of thunder and flashes of lightning that make me wonder why Ryan and I are still here. No one else is here with us at the store. Pete went home already, saying that he left his car windows open but he never came back. 

“Dance with me!” Ryan yells at me, jogging over to the counter where I’m sitting. 

“A customer could come in.” I say even if I actually really want to dance with Ryan. 

“Really, Brendon?” he scoffs sarcastically, looking out the dark windows. “Really?” 

I smile into my hands and then get up from the stool I’m seated on. I make my way over to Ryan and wait for him to put his plan into action. He does, slipping a hand on my waist and grabbing one of my free hands, our fingers entwining and him evidently leading us. 

“Put your other hand on my shoulder.” Ryan directs, taking this very seriously. 

“Wait, why am I the girl?” I ask in a faux mocked voice. 

“Look at you.” he laughs, his fingers tightening slightly and then his feet moving. 

I try not to trip at the sudden movement. “Look at you!” 

“Nuh-uh, Kid. You’ve got the ass.” 

“You’ve got the face!” 

Ryan just smiles at me and I return it easily. We’re easily gliding through the store now, an old My Chemical Romance song playing on the speakers. Ryan is looking down towards his feet, as if he’s suddenly worried he’s going to fall down. I can still see that he’s wording all the lyrics silently. Something in my stomach twists uncomfortably. Ryan just makes me so happy and I’m truly worried. 

We make our way to the drum room, our feet working in proper unison. I smile, as if this is some large accomplishment. Ryan flicks his eyes up to catch it, laughing slightly. 

“Stop looking so proud.” he reminds me. 

I open my mouth to say something but then everything goes black and I can’t even see Ryan’s face right in front of me. I let out a scared whimper and squeeze Ryan’s hand with more force than necessary. 

“The power just went out, Bren.” he says, still standing frozen next to me. 

“I...knew that.” I mutter. 

Ryan lets out one of those lazy, breathy laughs and then his hand on my waist disappears. I feel put off by the loss but then there’s a flash of light. Ryan has his phone in his hand, evidently pulled out from his pocket. He leads us to the front of the store and hands me the phone so he doesn’t have to let go of my hand. I watch as he switches the open sign around and locks the door with a bundle of keys he has in his pocket.

“Let’s go to the back room until the storm is over; then we’ll go home.” Ryan says calmly, fingers still entwined with my own. 

I nod my head, realizing that Ryan probably can’t see it. A flash of lightning brightens up the room for only a second, in which I see Ryan looking at me nervously. It goes back to being just Ryan’s flashlight on his phone illuminating his room. He squeezes my hand a little and then we proceed to the back room. I run into the wall only once and Ryan snickers under his breath for only a little bit. I feel my cheeks get hot but it doesn’t really matter since he can’t see. Ryan and I sit at the break room table, the noise of the chairs scratching against the floor a stark difference to the blank silence. We break our handholding in the process and it only makes my hand feel lonely without his in contact. He places his phone on the table, the light brightening up the room vaguely enough to see Ryan’s face. 

Ryan clears his throat. “So,” he goes. “We could play the question game?” 

“Okay.” I say, still feeling a little nervous because I’m not entirely mature when it comes to large storms. 

“Alright, um… What’s your favorite food?” 

I crack a smile despite how nervous the thunder makes me. “Oh, god, you’re going to make me hungry.” I whine. “But, uh, any breakfast foods. Are you excited for Easter?” 

Ryan scoffs at my question. “Not really. It’ll be like any other day.” 

“Why?” 

“Nope, it’s my turn to ask a question.” he points out. “Hm, Brendon, what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home from work today?” 

“Sleep. Okay, why aren’t you excited for Easter?” I forge on with that subject because who doesn’t like Easter? You get candy and pie and cookies and as many delicacies as one can imagine. 

Ryan shrugs, visibly uncomfortable about the topic. “My dad’s gonna be gone, and it’s not like I’ll go anywhere.” 

“What?” I gag. “That’s shit!” 

“Yeah, well, whatever. I’m used to it. Uh, what color underwear are you wearing?” Ryan asks, letting out a breathy laugh. 

I check, pulling out the waistband of my briefs slightly. “Light blue.” I inform him, smiling. “Okay, Ryan do you wanna come to my house for Easter?”

Ryan’s face gets serious and then turns to confusion. I watch as he looks down to his hands, something he rarely does. “I don’t think your parents will want me there.” 

“Nah, man, if my parents hear you’re alone on Easter they’ll, like, freak. I mean, I know you’re not into the whole praying thing, and trust me, there’s a lot of praying, but I think you would have a good time. My aunt makes this really good cake with this weird icing that she won’t ever tell us what it’s made out of and–” 

“I’ll guess I’ll go if you don’t mind.” he says, looking at me kindly. 

“Why would I mind?” I ask sarcastically. 

Ryan just fidgets. “I don’t know.” he whispers. “So, what do you–” 

The prevalent sound of a siren stops Ryan in his tracks. He looks across the table at me, a noticeable worry flashing in his eyes. It’s only then that I realize that those are, in fact, tornado sirens. You can hear the sensitive warnings through the thudding of the rain and thundering of the storm. 

I stand up abruptly. “Shit, Ryan, fuck– what do we do?!” 

“Whoa, calm down, Bren.” He stands next to me, his uneasy demeanor betraying his calming words. “It’s probably just a watch. Let’s go to the bathroom and stay in there, okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s smart, yeah, um, bathroom, okay.” I say rushed and nod my head viciously because, yes, this is a good plan. 

Ryan grabs for his phone and the last flash of his face I can see is him rolling his eyes. He fishes in the dark for my hand, finding five longing fingers and a lonely palm. I instantly shuffle closer to him and let him take us towards the bathroom. It’s only a one-person room so Ryan and I lean against the wall adjacent from the toilet and silently thank whoever cleaned the bathroom so thoroughly. I lean into Ryan, not even registering what I’m doing until it’s already done. 

“I’m sorry I’m a wimp.” I apologize lightly. 

“‘S fine.” he shrugs it off, and I can even feel the way his shoulders move up a little. “I’m sure the storm will be over soon. You know these things, they always make a big deal about them but they never happen.” 

“I left my phone by the cash register.” I realize, talking out loud. “Shit, what if my mom’s trying to get ahold of me?” 

“Do you want me to go and get it?” 

“No.” I say, for more reasons than me not wanting to be alone in this bathroom. 

We sit in relative silence, the sirens still audible through the walls. I keep my hand in Ryan’s and mentally hope that he isn’t completely put off by how much my hands are sweating. I sigh and breathe Ryan in. He smells like cigarette smoke and some cologne I’d never be able to name. I can almost guarantee that he’s dying for a cigarette right now. It’s a bad habit of his. I kind of wish he’d stop; it’s bad for his health. Yet, he still does it and I barely reprimand him about it. 

“Do you hear that?” Ryan says slowly, like he’s kind of worried to ask me. 

I strain my ears to hear the sirens have changed the pitch slightly. It’s higher and even easier to hear. I recognize that this means there was a tornado spotted. I suddenly scrunch even closer to Ryan. “Oh my gosh, we’re going to die. At Guitar Center! Maybe we should go outside or something because I refuse to die here. I mean, I like guitars but–”  

“Brendon, shut the fuck up! Let me check my phone and make sure.” Ryan yells at me, his careful and considerate tone now gone. It only worsens my state. 

He searches through his phone and I don’t even bother looking at his screen. It’s official. We’re going to die in a tornado at Guitar Center. Just fuck. I breathe in shallow breaths and really do try to rationalize but I can’t. I vaguely look at Ryan’s phone and catch the words “Tornado warning, twenty miles away”. 

“Twenty miles!” I squeak because tornados move fast. 

“Fuck, you’re right.” he mutters, like he has completely given up on trying to quiet my pessimism down. “Should we like sit against the door?” 

I can’t even process his question. “I don’t know.” I mutter. There’s a loud roaring noise outside and I’ve never heard anything like it. “Oh God, I’m actually going to die a virgin. That was a joke, Ryan.” 

“I’m not going to fuck you now, if that’s what you’re implying.” Ryan scoffs, still having that sarcasm he carries around everywhere. 

“That’s not what I meant. We would obviously fuck when it matters. Shit, and I really like you and now we won’t even be able to figure out when that time is. And–” I cut myself off, letting out a whimpering noise. 

“Wait, what?” Ryan says. 

I open my mouth to reply but I honestly can’t think of what to say. I guess I just start talking when I get nervous. I’m suddenly even more aware of the way our hands fit together nicely, how it feels to be so close to him, and how easy it is to say things I only think in my head to him. Even in this short period of time with Ryan, he’s evolved into something essential, like oxygen or water. He’s my coping mechanism, my unbiased ear, my intangible hope. I just can’t find the words to even express this to him. 

So I sit with my mouth open and nothing coming out. 

I do the next best thing to talking, which is just kissing him. He doesn’t seem to expect it, but our lips fit together without complaint. I put a hand on the side of his face and try really hard to think of something to say when our lips disconnect. Before Ryan can even find a place to put his hands, I pull away abruptly. He looks only a little lost. 

“I kinda love you, Ryan.” I spit out because, yeah, that seems way too natural. 

Ryan slowly looks down to the ground. “Kinda?” 

“No, shit– I love you, not kinda, I really love you and...yeah.” I stutter, trying to sound coherent. “I, uh, I understand you’re not, like, gay but, god, I didn’t really mean to fall in love with you and if you don’t feel the same way I guess I’ll just have to deal with it. It’s just, it would be really shitty–” 

“Brendon,” Ryan says, and I stop my rant to look over at him. He has a fond smile barely visible on his lips and he squeezes my hand. “I kinda love you, too.” He makes a big deal about the ‘kinda’ but I know he’s just poking fun at me. 

“You know I have a problem with word vomit.” I pout, a smile still finding its way onto my face.

“Okay, so now if we die we’ll both have this mutual knowledge.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

Ryan and I look over at each other, both of us holding in laughter. I’m obviously scared in a situation like this, but suddenly everything is less tense and forbidding. I kiss Ryan again, happiness filling all my body. I don’t think this tornado will stop for just Ryan and me, but I think it should.

***

And the thing is, we don’t die. Nope. The tornado didn’t even touch down. Ryan’s and my reading skills during serious events are evidently inadequate. There was a funnel cloud spotted twenty miles away. It was only mildly laughable after the situation occurred. After the storm cleared, the power turning back on, I found my phone with ten missed calls and five messages all from my parents and Ryan and I left Guitar Center like our lives depended on it. 

Now, though, times are better. A whole fucking lot better. Ryan’s sitting next to me on the ground, a fistful of M&M’s coloring his palm as they melt. I snag one of them, smiling mischievously at him. He only rolls his eyes and leans against the wall we’re up against. My family is mingling with each other all throughout the house, pointedly ignoring us. I have Ryan's unoccupied hand in mine and I keep looking down at it with a wide smile on my face. 

Thankfully, there was no big announcement where I got up in front of the whole room and tapped a wine glass with a knife and told them I was gay and Ryan was my boyfriend. My parents had mentioned it to a few relatives in phone calls and then everyone knew I was gay. While my family members all give me confused glances when I introduce Ryan as my boyfriend, they just nod and smile and feign acceptance. It’s liberating to know that I don’t have to hide my blatant interest in males. 

Ryan’s still kind of nervous about all of this. He’s never had a proper boyfriend before so I can imagine it’s probably strange to strut around with me, our hands clasped together, telling my family of our relationship. He’s still a good sport, making sarcastic retorts if they say something semi-nasty to us. 

“When are we going to eat?” Ryan asks, pouring his remaining M&M’s into his mouth and wiping his sticky hand on his jeans. 

“Soon, maybe.” I shrug. “I never really know with my family.” 

Ryan makes a dying whale noise and rests his head on my shoulder. His hair tickles my neck and makes me feel warm in the pit of my stomach. “So, what about your aunt’s cake, huh? The one with the special icing? Am I going to be able to try that?” 

I smile to myself, a little amazed that Ryan even remembered that. “Yeah, I think she made it.” 

Ryan just moves his head slightly so it’s much more stable on my shoulder. I hear the door open from across the room but I don’t feel like moving my head and disrupting Ryan’s relaxation. I can feel his hot breath through my shirt and it soothes me greatly. I grab for his hand, ignoring the strange looks people are starting to give us. I run my fingers over his and hum to myself. Ryan taps the tempo on my hand, humming under his breath as well. 

“Aw, how picturesque!” a familiar voice coos at Ryan and me. 

Ryan moves his head off my shoulder and I leap up from the ground, pulling Amanda into a hug. She wraps her arms around me, a little surprised but obviously not bothered by it. “I missed you.” I tell her in a soft voice. 

She places her hand in my hair, swishing it around with her fingers. “Missed you too, Kiddo.” Amanda says slowly. She releases me, now turning to Ryan who has since gotten up from the floor. She offers him a sweet smile that he returns reluctantly. “Don’t worry, I’m not the evil one.” 

“She’s not lying.” I laugh. 

"So, you guys are dating now?” We both nod tentatively. “That’s sweet, really. I mean, last time I honestly could swear you two were a thing but then you said you weren’t and, I don’t know, you’re both adorable.” 

“God, don’t have a crush on my boyfriend, Amanda.” I say, pulling Ryan closer to me. Ryan just tuts and looks away, evidently feeling strange. “Can you go help in the kitchen so that we can eat soon?” 

Amanda rolls her eyes. “Probably a good idea.” 

She retreats to the kitchen and Ryan and I just stand by each other’s sides. I grab his hand and lead him out of the room, him silent and not objecting. I smile in anticipation and close my door firmly when we get to my bedroom. Ryan just sits down on the bed and then just reverts to lying down on his back. I pull out the contents of one of my dresser drawers I don’t use.

“Happy Easter, Ry.” I say, holding out the plastic bag in my hand. 

Ryan takes it from me, staring at the partially transparent plastic wrapping. He slowly unravels the twisty tie and pulls out the large bag of Skittles. He looks at it for a few seconds, not even tipping his head upwards at me. I watch as he puts the bag down on my bed. I start to get nervous, wondering if I did something wrong. He stands up, though, and walks over to where I’m standing apprehensively. He wraps his arms around my neck. 

“Remember when you forced me to ditch church and then you got Skittles and we ate them on the gym floor? Okay, you probably do, that wasn’t that long ago. I just, I saw them and I was like, ‘I bet Ryan would like those’ and so I got them and I kind of feel ridiculous right now because–” 

“Brendon,” Ryan hums, looking like he’s waiting for me to stop. I just bite my lip and get ready to apologize. “No, I’m not, like,” he seems unsure of what to say, which is kind of a first for him. “No one really gets me anything for Easter and it’s really sweet that you remembered that.” 

I feel my face get hot and I’m almost positive it’s a bright crimson that Ryan is probably laughing about mentally. I kiss him lightly on his lips and then detach myself from him, going back over to the bed. “It was nothing, really.” 

Ryan just laughs under his breath and lies down on my bed, his hands snatching for the Skittles. I lie next to him, my head resting on the same pillow as Ryan’s. Once he has the bag of candy open, I get out a palm full and try not to choke. I remember when Ryan choked last time and a broad smile finds its way on my face. 

“I love you.” I tell him and I’m completely sure of every single syllable that falls out of my mouth. 

“I hope you don’t choke on those Skittles.” Ryan says, turning over and smiling at me in that way that I know what he means.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Slash At The Disco.


End file.
